


Rules of Engagement

by Sproings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Eventual Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Self-Harm, So much angst, Suicide Attempt, cat drawings, implied violence to pigeons, letter z, robot violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:22:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 31,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproings/pseuds/Sproings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post TWS</p><p>Bucky can't trust what's in his own head.  But he knows he trusts Steve.</p><p>Everybody tries to be nice.  Everything is still awful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He ran like a machine, never slowing, never leaning forward, never throwing his head back to gasp for air. The cherry blossoms, drifting down from the trees like a snow shower made of cotton candy, might have been invisible for all he seemed to notice them.

Until a dark figure stalked into his path. 

Steve slowed, then, and leaned forward, as if trying to see the face hidden behind the figure's unkempt hair. As if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. As if maybe he had seen this before, and it had turned out to be a mirage.

He came to a stop, just outside of arm’s reach of the man. Then he inched a bit closer.  
"Bucky?" he said, barely above a whisper.

The man raised his head and looked into Steve's eyes. They held each others gaze for a moment. Then Bucky Barnes, former Howling Commando, former Asset to HYDRA, toppled forward into unconsciousness.

Steve caught him without any hesitation.

 

Sam stood at his kitchen counter, eating a bowl of cereal and checking messages on his phone, when the back door slammed open. He dropped instinctively into a fighting stance.

Steve was already halfway across the room, in spite of the body draped over his shoulders. He barely even glanced at Sam as he bolted into the living room.

"Should I call the police, or the hospital?" Sam asked as he closed the door Steve had left open. He took a second to notice that he had been holding his spoon as if it was a weapon before tossing it into the sink on his way to the living room.

There, he found Steve on his knees next to the couch, carefully tending to the man who had landed him in the hospital only a few weeks ago.

"Shit, I thought you brought me some citizen in peril. How did you find him?" Sam tried to nudge Steve out of the way, but Steve doesn't nudge. "You need to move so I can help him, Steve."

Steve looked around as if waking from a long sleep, noticing Sam for the first time. "I need to call somebody," he muttered, his gaze swiveling helplessly back to the couch.

"Good idea," Sam said, shoving him aside. "Go over to there and call somebody while I do triage."

Steve allowed himself to be shoved, but he didn't look away from the couch, despite bumping into a table, and a lamp, before finally lowering himself into a leather chair in the corner. It was the kind of chair that would be lovely to sink back into, but not so comfortable to perch on the front edge the way Steve did. He managed to tear his eyes away long enough to dial his phone, but he snapped back when Bucky made a mumbling kind of moan.

"Hey, Barnes?" Sam was nearly shouting, but he got no response. "Hey, come on, wake up." 

Nothing. 

Sam frowned, but continued poking and assessing.

Steve turned his attention to the phone, again. 

"Bruce? It's Steve Rogers. I need your help. A friend of mine is . . . sick, I guess. I mean, he's --"

"No, you're exactly the kind of doctor I need. Nobody else would --"

"Yes."

"My friend Sam is with him, um actually, we're at his place. Jarvis knows where."

"Thank you. Thanks so much." Steve shut off his phone and stuffed it back in his pocket.

Sam looked up at him. "You know, I can name five doctors who would jump at the chance to help out Captain America." But a sad, steady look from Steve made him frown. "Aaand you can name five HYDRA agents who would happily torture them for intel about it. I know. But . . . Well. At least he's here. Let's get him in the back room so I can spike a bag for him."

"What?"

"Hang an IV. Saline solution, or an LR if I still have one. Just grab his legs, so we can--" Sam stopped when Steve hoisted Bucky up and stood cradling him in his arms. "Or, you could do that."

Sam led the way down the hall and into a small bedroom.

"Put him toward the edge so I can reach him," said Sam, sorting through his med kit. He clipped a yellow IV bag to a lamp and trailed the tubing over toward Bucky.

"Barnes, I'm going to put a needle in your arm. Don't, you know, smash my face up or anything."

 

Bruce looked up from his notes, uncomfortable in the small bedroom with the two super-soldiers, one of whom was unconscious and very recently a HYDRA assassin. "I'm sure you noticed the damage around the arm," he said.

Steve was already looking at the damage, a network of scars, scratches and tears that radiated out from the Winter Soldier's metal arm.

"Is that what knocked him out?' Steve turned his face toward Banner, but his eyes lingered on Bucky.

"Actually, I think it's more of a symptom than a cause."  
"Yeah?"

"Super-soldier serum is unpredictable at best. He must have some kind of healing ability like yours, or he wouldn't have survived half of what he went through. But if he does have enhanced healing then he shouldn't have all that." Bruce waved his papers in the general direction of Bucky's shoulder. "So, my theory is, maybe the serum is wearing off."

"Why now? It's been seventy years."

'Well, my guess is that this isn't the first time this has happened. Which would help explain the whole cryo thing. Put him under, then dose him again when you wake him up. It makes sense."

Steve put his head in his hands. "Nothing about this makes sense."

"No, you're right. You're right. But, this does open up some . . . options."

Steve didn't quite glare at Bruce, but when he looked up, his face was far too controlled to pass for neutral.

Bruce saw the tension there, and steeled himself against it, but he went on anyway. "Have you considered letting him die?"

\-- whoomf --

Bruce was slammed back against the wall, with both of Steve's fists balled up around his lapels.

Bruce closed his eyes and went very still. His lips moved, barely, in rhythm with the slow rise of his chest. One, two, three, four.

"Hey, is everyth--" Sam took in the situation as he came through the door. "Shit." He backed himself into the corner beside Bucky, apparently ready to grab his patient and dive out the window if necessary.

Steve's fingers took an eternity to uncurl.

Bruce exhaled through another count of four, as Steve stepped back away from him. "Please don't do that again," he said softly before opening his eyes.

"No, I wouldn't . . . I'm so sorry. Bruce, I --" Steve slumped down onto the foot of the bed and ran his hands into his hair.

"Look, Steve, I get that this is all . . . impossible. But there is so much here that you don't know."

Steve made a sound that could charitably be described as a laugh. "Oh, so much."

"You have never seen me when I am really angry."

"I, honestly, I am terribly sorry about --"

"No, that's not what I meant. When we were in New York, I was, I guess, present, with the other guy, in a way that I never had been before. All the other times, I've been sort of trapped. Inside the Hulk. No, that's not even true."

Bruce sighed and sat next to Steve, checking to avoid Bucky's feet. "I've got no choice but to learn to live with what that part of me has done."

"It's not your fault," Steve said, all full of certainty and compassion.

"Is that what you plan to tell him?” Bruce jerked a thumb toward Bucky. "He might even believe you, for a while. But if the person he used to be still exists in there, then at the very least, he will have watched what his body has done. At worst, he'll know that he could do it again tomorrow."

“You’ve done a lot of good, too, Bruce. You and the Hulk. You’re the reason we’re all still alive. That’s not nothing.”

Bruce clenched his jaw. “That’s great for the world and all, but I still don’t get the life I wanted.”

"You left somebody behind, right?"

Steve and Bruce both snapped around to look at Sam, who had been doing a pretty good job of pretending to be invisible until he spoke.

Bruce shrugged with feigned indifference. "I left everyone behind." 

"Yeah, but there was a particular somebody." Sam said gently.

Bruce looked down at his hands. He carefully uncrumpled the notes he had been holding, taking longer to do so than was probably needed.

"Anyway," he said, smoothing out one last wrinkle, "I wanted you to be able to make an informed decision. As far as treatment goes, I would need to do more tests. I don't even know his blood type."

"Oh!" Steve hooked a chain out from under his shirt, revealing a shiny set of dog tags. "Uh, he's A positive."

"Where did those come from?" Sam asked. "I thought you never --"

"I had them made," Steve mumbled, tucking them back under his shirt.

Sam and Bruce raised eyebrows at each other.

Bruce shrugged. "Same type as yours, though. That's interesting."

"You know my blood type?" Steve asked, finally able to make eye contact again.

"Every scientist who has ever worked in bio-chemistry knows you blood type. Getting a sample of it is the holy grail of the entire field of research, and a few other fields, too. Which is why all three of us should stay in the room when we give this guy a transfusion of it. If you want to."

"That would work?" Steve asked.

"Well, it wouldn't work for me, because my blood cells tend to destroy everything. But it might work on him."

Steve held out his arm. “I’m ready when you are.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam and Bruce sat on opposite sides of Sam's couch, pretending to watch television. 

Steve paced across the kitchen, which was really too small for satisfactory pacing, especially for someone with legs as long as Captain America's.

"Shouldn't something have happened by now?"

Bruce sighed. "Steve, I don't actually know any more than I did last time you asked me. Are you sure you don't want to take him to a hospital?"

"Not if it means HYDRA can find him. Or the Feds, for that matter. I just . . . if nothing changes in an hour . . . I guess I could call Fury, ask him to -- "

A loud knock at the front door interrupted him.

Sam approached carefully, peeking around the blinds while exposing as little of his body as possible. Then his eyes went wide and he undid the bolts.

"Hey howdy hey! It's me. I'd have been here sooner, but you all failed to call me." Tony Stark somehow had the ability to take over a room before he even finished entering it.

"Failed? You were in England." Bruce shook Tony's hand, which gave Tony an opening to pull him into a quick hug.

"Thor says 'Hi', by the way. Like I wouldn't come back for this. Is he down here? I gotta see him. I gotta get him into my lab, actually." He was already halfway across the room, talking and walking.

Steve put himself in Tony's path, standing tall and wide, blocking the hallway. "He is not an experiment."

Tony rolled his eyes. "By my count, there is only one person here who isn't an experiment." He turned and stuck out a hand at Sam. "Hey there. You know who I am. Who are you?"

"Sam Wilson, sir." He smiled and shook the offered hand.

Tony gasped in mock surprise. "Sam Wilson from the EXPERIMENTAL flight suit program? Well, you get to come to the clubhouse too, then. The password is 'guinea pig'."

"Um, thanks," Sam said, with a grin that showed he was susceptible the Tony's charms in spite of Steve's frown.

"Seriously people, this is a safety issue. Nobody has even scanned the arm, have they? Anything could be going on in there." Tony bounced the way he does when he is truly nervous.  


"Well, if there was a bomb in it, now would be the time to set it off."

Everyone in the room turned.

Bucky stood in the hallway, wearing a sheet. "Target rich environment," he explained, eyes flitting between three of them, but avoiding the fourth. "Permission to sit?"

"Yeah, of course," said Sam, waving at the nearest chair.

Bucky shuffled tiredly toward the chair. He stopped in front of it, staring down. Black leather. Chrome accents. He frowned, sagging to the left from exhaustion. But he didn't sit.  


"Bucky." Steve started to reach out his hand, but Sam stepped between them.

"How about you try the couch," Sam offered gently.

Bucky pivoted and lurched to the couch. He sat down quickly, as if to avoid falling.  
Only one person in the room seemed to know where to look, and that was Steve. His eyes never left Bucky. The terrible mix of despair, hope, and anguish that played openly over his face was too much for any of the others to stand for more than a glance. It rendered even Tony speechless.

Bucky's gaze got caught up on Steve's shoes. Steve's dark gray sweat pants. Steve's crisp white t-shirt.

"Hi, Steve."

"Hi, Bucky."

Steve's small, shy smile.

"How much do you remember?" Steve asked.

"I remember the last couple of weeks really well. I remember what I did to you." He grimaced. "And to him." He glanced at Sam. "And I saw video of what I did to her." He nodded toward the window.

"Natasha?" said Sam, crossing to the window and peering through the blinds.

Bucky looked around at each of them. "You didn't even know she was there? Don't you have any security at all? Do you know how easy it was to find you, Steve?" He lunged to his feet. "Jesus, you can’t --"

He staggered sideways.

Steve reached out and caught his elbow.

Bucky knocked his hands away with one arm, and slashed out with his other, hitting Steve in the chest.

The front door flew open and Natasha barreled through it. She had a pistol in each hand, and she brought each of them up to aim at Bucky.

Sam put himself in her line of fire. "It was only a reflex. Everybody put away your weapons. And your robot armor."

Tony flipped up the mask on the suit that had seemingly materialized around him. He turned to Bruce and asked "Why is this guy giving orders?"

"Because I'm the one who is about to lose the deposit on his apartment."

"Look, it's fine," Steve said. He was half a step further away from Bucky than he had been, but he didn't seem injured.

Bucky was hunched over with his hands on his knees. His sheet was puddled on the floor, leaving him dressed only in a pair of boxers.

"He's gonna throw up," Clint announced as he walked through the door. He nudged Natasha with his elbow, and she holstered her weapons.

"Bathroom's down the hall," Steve said, leading the way.

Bucky followed, at a distance.

When they were gone, Sam said to Natasha, "I am glad you came."

She hugged him. "You really think Barnes is all right?"

Sam scoffed. "The dude just spent seventy some years either fighting, being tortured, or being frozen."

"So, we should give him a day or two before we have him fight space monsters?" asked Clint.

"Maybe a whole week," Sam answered, grinning.

"Oh, now you're coddling him."

 

Tony leaned back on the couch, propping his feet on a hot-rod red suitcase. "Stressful day?"

Bruce sighed and sat next to him. "You could say that."

"Want a drink?"

"No."

"Is that an actual 'no', or an I-can't-because-of-reasons 'no'?"

"Doesn't matter."

Tony pulled out his phone. "Jarvis, I'm gonna need about five gallons of chocolate milk shakes, some pizzas, and a bunch of dim sum. Extra rice."

 

Steve pulled a bundle off the shelf in the guest room closet. "Sam keeps spare clothes around, just in case," he said, tossing the bundle onto the bed. "Those should fit you."

"Okay," Bucky said, and started pulling down his boxers.

Steve spun to face the wall. "Uh, yeah, I guess sometimes one of the soldiers from the VA will show up here, so he . . . plus me and Natasha that one time. Anyway, he tries to be prepared, I guess."

At the sound of a zipper closing, Steve risked a glance. Finding Bucky fully dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, he turned around.

Bucky studied him for a moment. "Did you used to be shy like that? Back before?"

Steve blinked. "Yeah, actually. You would make fun of me for it, and try to trick me into turning around before you had your clothes on."

Bucky pondered this. "Was that funny?"

"You thought so."

"Did you think so?"

"I am not ready to admit that."

Bucky pondered again. "None of that was in the Smithsonian."

"Well, no." Steve sat on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. "They said you were loyal, and brave, and my best friend. Which is all true, but . . . Yes, you were funny."

Bucky sat on the bed and leaned his back against the wall. "What about you? Were you funny?"

"Um, I don't know. I always tried to make you laugh, but I was --"

A knock at the door interrupted him, and made Bucky sit forward, on guard.

"Come in," Steve called.

Tony came in, carrying a pizza box stacked with take-out containers in one arm, and a loaded drink carrier in the other. "Food time!" he announced as he set everything on the bed, including himself. He popped open a container, stuck a fork in it, and held it out to Bucky. "White rice. Bruce says you can't have anything interesting until we're sure you're finished barfing."

Bucky took it, uncertainly.

"You, on the other hand, get dumplings and pork buns," Tony told Steve. "The fridge here is comically small, so the less we have left over, the better. Eat up."

Steve opened a container and sat back, spearing dumplings with the same effortless grace as he did everything else.

"So," Tony said when Steve seemed relaxed. "You know what I'm going to say.”

"You want me to come to the tower."

"Both of you. Yep. There's plenty of room. Got a great gym. Olympic pool."

Steve stared down at his dumplings. "Tony, you're going to find this out anyway, so, I guess I'll just tell you." He took a deep breath. "Bucky killed your parents."

Bucky froze, eyes going wide, with a forkful of rice halfway to his mouth.

"Wow," Tony said around a mouthful of pork bun. He swallowed. "That is one hell of a conversation starter, but as it turns out, you're wrong."

"Zola told us --"

"I know what it told you. Romanov talked to me while you were in the hospital. We did some digging, and it turns out that Barnes wasn't the guy. And, I would like to think that I wouldn't hold it against him if he was, what with the whole brainwashing thing."

Bucky put his fork back in the container.

Steve said, "Well, that's a relief."

"Yeah, I suppose." Tony opened another container, then looked back up at Steve. "Jesus, I can't believe you just said it like that. Just, blam." He started to snicker. 

"I didn't want it to be this big secret, is all."

"No, I appreciate the honesty, but it was a little blunt. Maybe cushion the blow, next time."

"I don't know how to cushion something like that."

"Clearly." Tony snagged a cup from the drink carrier. "So, Barnes, how's the rice doing? You gonna hurl?"

"I don't know yet," Bucky said, poking at the remaining rice.

"Eh, close enough. Here, drink this." Tony traded him the rice for the cup.

"Is that a good idea?" Steve asked, making Bucky hesitate.

"Well, I've read the reports, and considering how long it's been since he had anything that tastes remotely good, I think it's a fantastic idea. Besides, don't you want to see the look on his face?"

Steve met Bucky's eyes, and gave a little shrug.

Bucky took a drink from the straw.

His eyes fluttered closed. His head tipped back. He drew a long, shuddery breath in through his nose before he finally swallowed with a barely audible moan.

Tony grinned at Steve, an I-told-you-so sort of look, but Steve only stared at Bucky, completely transfixed. Tony's expression softened and he turned away, busying himself with opening the pizza box.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. "You know, if you guys come to the Tower, I'll put in an ice cream machine. Full sundae bar. All you can eat."

Steve was still trying to pick up the threads of the conversation when Bucky surprised him by asking, "What kind of security does it have?"

"Ooo, that is exactly the right question," Tony said with a grin. "We've got stuff HYDRA's never even heard of. We know, we checked the files. Anti-aircraft, anti-space monster, anti-demigod, you name it."

Steve saw the look of relief on Bucky's face and sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a generously sized bedroom, with cream-colored walls and dark trim. A wooden side table held a lamp and an analog clock. A cozy king-sized bed, covered in a red and blue patchwork quilt, held a pair of super-soldiers.

They laid on opposite sides, their backs pressed against each other, sound asleep on top of the covers.

Each of them wore dark sweatpants and white t-shirts. Only the contrast of blonde hair against black served to distinguish them, until one of them shifted and revealed fingers of metal.

A frown clouded Bucky's still-sleeping face. He rolled over, making Steve topple toward him, and muttered, "You got another fever, Stevie? You feel warm."

The back of his fingers had already found Steve's forehead by the time Bucky opened his eyes.

Metal fingers glinted back at him in the early morning light, just above Steve's startled blue eyes.

He snatched his hand back and spun away, ending up sitting on the edge of the bed with his back turned.

"Did I used to call you Stevie?"

"Sometimes."

"Did you like it?"

Steve reached out his hand, then pulled it back. "You mostly called me that when I was recovering from being sick, or beat up. I didn't like to make you worry, but, I liked that you cared."

"Oh." Bucky ran a hand over his hair. "Your temperature is 99.3."

"You can tell?"

Bucky held up his metal hand. "Yeah."

"That's normal for me, now. It's not a fever."

"Good."

"How did we end up sleeping here? I don't remember going to bed." Steve stretched.

"You fell asleep while you were talking about pizza."

"Mmm, because we left all the pizzas at Sam's place. That I remember. Let's go see if the others brought them in the car. They should be here by now." Steve bounced out of bed.

 

In the dining area, two women were filling their mugs with coffee.

"I need to check in with Hill about her contacts in Sydney, see if she can chase down some rumors," Natasha was saying.

Pepper smiled. "You can ride in with me, if you like. It'll give us a chance to catch up."

"I was hoping you'd offer." Natasha flashed a crooked smile at Pepper, which cooled as she caught sight of Bucky with Steve.

"Good morning," Pepper called. She crossed over to meet them, somehow managing to seem warm and welcoming in spite of her sleekly tailored powersuit.

Natasha watched from across the room as Pepper gave greetings and introductions, with a hug for Steve and no handshake for Bucky.

When Pepper led Steve to the kitchen, Bucky stayed behind, pulling up a chair at the nearest of four tables. Natasha strolled over and sat across from him. 

She studied his face for a moment before she spoke. "The others have asked me not to shoot you."

Bucky considered this, then said, "Why?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "They thought you deserved a chance."

Bucky looked down at his mismatched hands.

"That leaves us with a problem," she continued. "What's past is past. But I won't sit back if you hit him again."

"I . . . Can you tell me how to stop it?"

She stared at him. At the desperation so plain on his face. "Well, it happened when he tried to touch you, right?"

He nodded, miserably. "I can't ask him not to."

Natasha blinked. "Okay. A good plan should be based on what you can control, anyway. So, maybe you should touch him."

She clearly enjoyed the way he reacted, as if she'd suggested something simultaneously terrifying and intriguing. She smiled and went on. "Pat his back when he's sad. Take his arm if you start to fall. Lean against him when he laughs."

They both turned as Steve followed Pepper back the room, carrying a stack of pizzas.

"Just do your best not to hurt him," Natasha said quietly.

"I'm trying."

Steve reached the table and set down the boxes. He turned to Bucky. "The supreme is the best one to eat cold, so I recommend trying it first."

"Morning Rogers," said Natasha.

"Good morning. How was the drive?" Steve opened a box and set it in front of Bucky.

"Oh, you know, Clint and I got to listen to Bruce and Tony talk about physics for four hours. It was a blast."

"Mmm, you and Clint sitting in the dark together. Sounds tragic." Steve grinned.

She pointedly ignored him and swiped a piece of pizza. "You want one, Pepper?"

Pepper sat down with her bowl of oatmeal. "Uh, no, thanks. You guys go ahead."

Steve flipped open another box. "Ew, pineapple and green olive."

Bucky grabbed a piece.

Steve raised his eyebrows.

"I liked it last night," Bucky said, and took a bite.

Natasha laughed. "I'm telling Bruce. He said white rice only."

"Oh, please don't," Steve asked. "I've upset him enough already, and Bucky didn't even throw it up."

"But if I don't tell him, how will he know he won the bet?" Natasha smirked.  


"Oh, he didn't."

"Oh, he did."

Steve chuckled, and Natasha laughed.

Bucky looked at Natasha. 

Looked at Steve.

Leaned closer to Steve.

Pushed away from the table and stood up.

"I should go. Take a shower," he said, backing away.

Steve stood, confused. "Okay, we can --"

"No, you should stay. Finish your pizza. I’ll see you after." He turned even before he finished talking and stalked away.

Steve lifted a hand, but let it fall.

Natasha and Pepper exchanged a look before Steve turned back to face them.

He sank into his chair and put his head on the table. "Decades held captive by HYDRA, weeks living alone on the street, and all I can do is feed him leftover pizza. I didn't even find him. All I did was catch him when he passed out in front of me."

Pepper reached across and laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, Steve. What you did was give him someone to run to. You gave him back the one person in the world who he has any reason to trust."

Steve sighed.

"You probably will need something to do, though. When you don't keep your mind occupied, it will occupy itself." Pepper drummed her fingers on the table. "I'll have some things brought in for the two of you. Do you have any suggestions, Natasha?"

"I learned sign language. Clint took up lock-picking. Didn't you learn to knit?"

"Crochet. Would you like a lumpy scarf? That's about all I can make, so far."

"Uh, sure," said Natasha.

Pepper rolled her eyes. "The worst part is, I know that you could lie convincingly, if you wanted."

Natasha grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve paced warily through the living room of the apartment. It was a warm and charming space, with wood furniture and shelves full of leather bound books, and the reassuring sight of his shield on the wall. There was no reason at all that it should seem ominous. No reason except the drone of running water and an irregular metallic clattering sound from down the hall.

“Buck, you all right?” Steve asked, approaching the bathroom door.

Bucky’s voice, barely audible, spoke a string of words. Then repeated them.

“I’m going to come in, okay?”

The same string of words, not an answer but a chant.

Steve pushed the door open.

Bucky was curled in the bottom of the claw-foot tub, with the shower on at full force. It had long since soaked through the clothes he was still wearing.

His lips had a faint tint of blue and he shivered continuously. A shudder racked through him, making his left arm rattle against the tub.

Steve lunged across the room.

“No!” Bucky shouted, and blocked Steve’s hand from touching the shower handle. “Failure is unacceptable. I suffer until I learn.”

Confusion and horror froze Steve in place.

“Failure is unacceptable,” Bucky said, losing focus.

Steve glared at the shower head.

“I suffer until I learn.”

“Not without me," Steve said, and stepped into the tub.

He blocked nearly all of the spray, in spite of the way his back curved involuntarily away from the cold.

Bucky blinked up at him. “What? No. Not you. You didn’t --”

“I did fail, Bucky. I failed you over and over. You were captured by Red Skull because I was off on a stage somewhere instead of in the trenches next to you. After I found you, I let myself pretend that the experiments Zola had done on you hadn’t had any effect, because I was too scared and selfish to march halfway across Europe without you.”

“No, that’s --”

“I’m not finished." Steve drew a deep, shivering breath. “When you fell off that train, I didn’t find you. I barely looked. When HYDRA was keeping you in a damned cryotank, I was frozen in an iceberg. I have failed you in ways I never imagined were possible, Bucky, and I don’t ever want you to suffer because of me again.”

Slowly, deliberately, Bucky stretched out his arm and patted Steve on the knee. Three awkward little pats, and then he drew back and tucked his hand under his other elbow as if he didn’t trust it, but it was enough to make Steve look slightly less tragic.

Steve reached to turn the hot water on, and Bucky flinched, but managed to keep his arms crossed.

“Sorry, I should have warned you first.”

Bucky shook his head.

“Would it be okay if I sit down?” asked Steve.

Bucky scrunched himself up as small as he could. As he sat down, Steve did the same, so that the space between them was as big as they could manage.

When the silence had gone on too long, Bucky asked, “Was the Smithsonian wrong about other things?”

“I wouldn’t say they were really wrong about anything, just that they were incomplete.”

Bucky bit his lip in thought “It said that you were a brilliant tactician.”

Steve shrugged in embarrassment. “I certainly try to be. I mean, I’ve studied. I still study. Why do you mention it?”

“You do know that it would have been a bad plan to stop fighting the Nazis so that you could go look for my mangled corpse, right?” Bucky’s expression could very nearly be called a smile.

Steve looked down, making the water run over his face and drip onto his knees, onto his pants that were black from being soaked through.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I could have at least asked. Maybe Hitler would have declared a cease-fire, if I had explained the situation." He looked hopefully at Bucky. 

Bucky nodded slowly. “Maybe if you wore the suit. People really like the suit.”

At the sound of Steve’s laughter, Bucky actually did smile.

“And if that didn’t work, I could always let him touch the shield. Nobody can resist the shield.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky drew his knees up and rested his chin between them.

“I did some interviews and things, after New York, and people would not stop trying to touch it. And if I didn’t bring it with me, then half the questions would be about where it was, and who was taking care of it.”

“Did you get it back? From the Potomac?”

“Yeah. Tony didn’t help our reputation with the government any, since the crash site was a restricted area, but he wasn’t --”

Steve broke off at the sound of someone knocking at the door.

“Steve?” called Sam’s muffled voice.

“Be there in a few minutes,” Steve said loudly, getting out of the tub.

 

“I still can’t believe I got invited to Tony Stark’s place.”

Steve and Bucky followed Sam down a sleek, modern corridor. Both of them still had damp hair, and Bucky’s was still noticeably dirty, but Sam wasn’t paying either of them much attention.

“Did you know he sent out a limo to take me to his private plane? And he had a cleaning service come to my apartment this morning. Who does that?”

“Billionaires, mostly,” Steve said with a shrug.

“No, no. There’s plenty of billionaires in the world, but only one of them made himself a robot suit so he could go fight bad guys.”

“You’re a fan, huh?”

“If thinking there’s more to him than money makes me a fan, then yes, I’m a fan. Hey Jarvis, is this the place?” he asked, stopping in front of a set of shiny black doors that towered all the way up to the lofted ceiling.

“This is indeed the place, sir. Mister Stark is expecting you,” said a smooth, pleasant voice from somewhere overhead.

The doors slid open to reveal an enormous area that might best be described as a playground for superheroes.

The most prominent feature was the climbing wall, which extended the entire ten story height of the room. It wrapped around two sides of the over-sized diving pool, and included several large ledges, any of which could hold a dozen people.

One of the ledges, the highest one, was occupied by a man dressed in gray and green, who was shooting arrows into a cluster of small, flying robots. Above his head was a glowing billboard that displayed two numbers. Every time he shot, the numbers increased. 22/22. 23/23. 24/24.

Obnoxious 70’s rock music suddenly blared through the room, which didn’t distract Clint at all. But he stopped firing when Iron Man dove into the robot swarm and scooped all the drones into his arms.

Tony flashed across the room, dropped the robots into a crate, and landed dramatically just in front of Sam. At a casual wave of his hand, pieces of his suit started flying away and assembling into a neat rectangle at his side. “Hey, welcome to the future site of the world’s greatest paintball tournament.”

“Very cool setup." Sam nodded, all casual.

Steve took a notebook from his pocket and wrote ‘paintball’ at the bottom of a list.

“So,” Tony clapped his hands, “To that end, you are gonna need these." A table came gliding out from behind a hidden door. On it was a set of large, gray wings. “But not like, these, these, because they are a death trap. Seriously, it’s a wonder you’re alive.”

“My suit! How did you get this?” Sam stroked his hand along one wing.

“By violating federal law. Which I guess is another reason to make you up a new set." Tony splayed his hand out on the table, and a glowing display appeared in the air above it.

 

By that point, Bucky had edged all the way back to the doors. They didn’t seem as over-sized from this side. They also didn’t seem to have any knobs, or pulls, or push plates, or keypads.

Clint, who had detached himself from a zipline and ambled over nearby, interrupted Bucky’s frowning. “They’re programmed to open at a verbal command,” he said. “Though Nat made sure there was an override, in case we all lose our voices or something. Did you want to leave?”

Bucky looked at Steve, who was pointing out something to Sam on one of the displays.

Looked at the doors.

Looked back at Steve.

Clint nodded. “Okay, you want to check out the weapons room, instead?”

Bucky turned to him as if he were demented.

“My name’s Barton, by the way. Clint. Sometimes Hawkeye. What should I call you?”

Bucky frowned. “Steve calls me Bucky." He glanced at the table again.

Clint tilted his head fractionally to the side and waited.

“Barnes?” Bucky said, finally.

“Sure, Barnes works.”

They stood in silence for several seconds before Bucky checked on Steve again. This time, he caught Steve looking back at him, and he froze. Steve gave him that shy smile from before.

“Why not go over there?” Clint asked.

Bucky faced his feet. “I tore that guy’s wings apart and then threw him off a helicarrier.”

“That guy is Sam Wilson. He’s Steve’s friend, and it seems like he understands.”

“But I don’t,” Bucky muttered.

“Ahh, I know how that is.”

Bucky frowned at him, highly dubious.

Clint frowned back. “I can tell you about it, but I want a drink first. Bar’s this way." He stalked off toward the pool, not checking to see if Bucky followed.

 

“You sure you don’t want to go over there?” Tony asked, “because you’re really no use to us if all you’re gonna do is stare longingly across the room.”

“No. He needs to have his freedom. It’s the least I could do for him, after what he’s been through." Steve squared his shoulders, clasped his hands behind his back, and investigated the display.

“All righty, then. Here we’ve got full body armor, titanium reinforcements at the wing joints, supplementary rockets at the ankles, and you’re staring at him again, Rogers.”

Steve sighed and pointed at the the display. “The body armor makes it too heavy. He needs to be able to walk.”

“Actually, I need to be able to carry somebody. Maybe a big somebody." Sam nodded meaningfully toward Steve.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, point taken, but you gotta let me put in some kind of armor. At least as much as a derby girl would wear. And can we go ahead and talk about Barnes? I would actually love if we could talk about Barnes. When can I do a better scan on him? Is he starting to remember things? Are his injuries healing? Give me something.”

“Um, yeah, the damage around his shoulder seems to be -- Wait, what do you mean, ‘a better scan’? What scans have you been doing?”

“You already know my suit does that. Also, you should assume that I’ve checked out anybody who eats breakfast with Pepper. For example, Romanov had two pistols, three knives, and a flash grenade this morning.”

“Her version of traveling light, huh?” Sam grinned.

“Oh, you have no idea. One time, she --”

“What did the scans find?” Steve interrupted.

Tony swatted away the flight suit displays and brought up a three-dimensional rendering of James Buchanan Barnes, helpfully annotated with a list of old fractures and major scars.

It was a long list.

“My sensors don’t penetrate very well from that distance, but I don’t find any sign of explosives, chemical weapons, or biological weapons. I assume HYDRA considered the unstable serum to be enough of a kill-switch that they didn’t need another, but I can’t be sure.”

Steve braced both hands on the table and closed his eyes. “A kill-switch. Even better than a poisoned tooth, and HYDRA used to love those.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t just trying to satisfy my curiosity, here.”

“I know that Tony. But he’s been through so many tests and experiments, I don’t know what he would do if I tried to get him inside some laboratory. He might never trust me again.”

“Oh." Tony tapped his fingers on the table in thought. “I could have a way around that. Let me talk to Bruce, we can probably get something set up by tomorrow. In the meantime, let me show you the automated parachute system. Because falling eight thousand feet after you were knocked unconscious is apparently a thing that can happen.”

 

“From what I heard, they let him out of prison and he went off and died in glorious battle or some shit." Clint downed the remaining half of his beer.

“Does it make things better, that he’s dead?” Bucky asked quietly.

Clint made circles on the table with the condensation from his glass. “I maybe have a few less nights where I sit up trying to figure how I could have killed him. Doesn’t matter, though. What’s past is past, I can’t fix it.”

“That’s what Romanov said. Only different.”

“Natasha." Clint grinned. “Yeah, she is different. Actually, I’m meeting her for lunch. I ought to get going, so I have time for a shower." 

Clint started to get to his feet, but stopped when he saw the stricken look on Bucky’s face. “Something wrong?’

“Does talking to me violate your mission parameters?” Bucky asked.

“No." Clint settled back in his chair. “Why?”

Bucky frowned. “You said you should shower.”

“Yeah.”

They studied each other.

Bucky looked away. “Tell me what ‘shower’ means.”

“It’s a way to clean dirt and sweat off yourself.”

Bucky continued frowning into the distance.  


“You turn on the water. Get undressed. Check the temperature. Stand under the water. Shampoo is for hair, and soap is for skin, but either one will get you clean. Rinse. Turn off the water. Dry with a towel. Get dressed again.”

“Check the temperature." It wasn’t quite a question, more a bitter request for confirmation.

 

Clint’s hands balled into fists on the table, but his voice was clinical. “So that it’s comfortable. Not too hot or too cold.”

Bucky looked at him. “Did this happen to you? Did you have words put into your head the wrong way?”

Clint shook his head. Bucky’s hands were clamped on the edge of the table, the flesh one white-knuckled, the metal one denting the mahogany. “You want to go hit something?” Clint offered.

Bucky unclenched his hands. “If I started, I don’t think I could stop.”


	5. Chapter 5

Steve and Bucky sat facing each other in their living room.

A grandfather clock ticked away the seconds, and only seemed to intensify the silence.

Steve tapped his fingers, bounced his knee, and looked aimlessly around the room, at the shield on the wall, at the books on the shelves. The comfortable looking couch with red and blue plaid pillows.

Bucky sat eerily still, though his eyes occasionally flicked to the locked front door or the cold black of the window, and always back again to Steve.

Steve stood up, making Bucky twitch in surprise. “Let’s --” Steve hesitated, biting his lip. “I’m going to see what’s in the kitchen. You can come. If you want.”

Bucky sat alone for a moment, then got up and checked the lock on the door before he followed Steve around the corner.

In the kitchen, Steve pretended he hadn’t been waiting for him by opening a set of cabinet doors. Inside were various packages in shades of cream, tan and green. He raised an eyebrow and pulled down a bag labeled ‘quinoa’.

“What is that?” Bucky asked from over his shoulder.

“I don’t even know how to pronounce it,” Steve answered. He turned around and held it out.

Instead of taking it, Bucky opened the next set of cabinets. This brought him quite close to Steve, which both of them definitely noticed and politely ignored.

This cabinet was full of packages in all the brightest colors. Bucky pulled down a bag at random. “These don’t have actual cheetahs in them, right?” he asked.

“I doubt it?” Steve leaned in to look closer. “There should be a list of ingredients on the back.”

Bucky flipped the bag over and they read the back together.

“Huh,” said Steve, “mostly corn.”

Bucky frowned. “Then why aren’t they called Corn-o’s?”

“I really don’t know. Maybe we should try them.”

Bucky pushed the bag toward him.

“I wanted you to decide,” Steve said gently.

“Not enough data." Worry etched lines on Bucky’s face.

“It’s okay." Steve held back a scowl. “Nobody can punish you. I won’t let that happen. Those might taste terrible, but that’s the worst it would get.”

“What about you, though. Would they -- “

“No, Buck. They can’t do anything to me, either." He gave Bucky a small, fake smile. “So, should we open these, or put them back?”

Bucky tried to read Steve’s face.

Steve tried to keep his face blank.

“Open them?” Bucky finally said.

“Okay." Steve gripped the bag in both hands and gently tore it completely in two.

“Aw, geez,” he said, as crunchy cheese snacks flew everywhere.

Bucky looked at the pile on the counter. Looked at Steve. “There’s orange stuff on your nose." His face wobbled into a smile. “That’s funny, right?”

“Probably." Steve wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“But you didn’t laugh.”

“I guess I’d rather be funny on purpose." He scooped a handful of snacks off the counter.

“Natasha said I should touch you.”

“What.”

“So I can learn not to hit you anymore. She said to lean on you when you laugh.”

About eighty different emotions played over Steve’s face.

“But you didn’t laugh,” Bucky added.

Steve set down his handful of snacks in a neat little pile. “Natasha is a big believer in practicing. She’d probably say I should practice laughing, too.”

“Is she wrong?”

“No. But maybe leaning is a bit much right now. If you wanted, we could try a handshake, instead.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I’ll stick my hand out . . . “ He did, slowly. “And then you can take hold of it, and we’ll shake. Or not. It’s up to you.”

With only a tiny hesitation, Bucky grasped Steve’s hand and shook it. “Huh. I guess the real test would be for you to shake my hand, though.”

“I’m game whenever you are. I don’t need everything to go perfectly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“Means it’s okay if you make a mistake.”

“No, it isn’t. I could hurt you.”

Steve waved this away. “I’d be fine. I can stand a few bruises.”

“Last time you ended up in the hospital for two weeks.”

“That was mostly from the bullets. You’re not that tough.”

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. “I cracked your skull. With my fists.”

“Only because I let you. And besides, I got better.”

This rendered Bucky speechless. All he could do was stare.

“I’ll do anything it takes to get you better, but I’m not afraid of you, Buck." He scooped up his little pile of cheese snacks and dropped them in his mouth.

Bucky watched him crunch a few times before he picked up one of his own and ate it. “Wow. They should have called them Salt-o’s." He scooped up a handful and stuffed them in his mouth.

Steve smiled. “Crunch-o’s?”

“Cheese-o’s,” Bucky replied. Then he frowned and pieced the bag back together. “All right, but where do the toes come into it?”

Inspired, Steve hastily arranged five of them in a row, largest to smallest. “There. Toes.”

“Gross,” Bucky said with a kind of confused admiration. He snagged the biggest one and popped it in his mouth.

“I can’t believe you ate my Cheese-toe!” Steve said in mock outrage.

Bucky broke into a full-on starlight grin at the sound of Steve’s giggle.


	6. Chapter 6

The conservatory had a traditional Victorian style, with wrought-iron stair rails and an abundance of ferns and mosses. Under the spreading limbs of a lemon tree bobbed a cluster of blue-leafed hostas, while nearby, a tangle of orange zinnias played host to a small cloud of butterflies. 

A trail of huge blown-glass flowers arched up toward the ceiling, and the morning light glowed through them, making colorful shadows on the crushed gravel pathway.

Several chairs, all in ruffled pink slip-covers, were arranged in a circle on a patio that nestled in the curve of the balcony stairs.

Tony shifted one of the chairs slightly, then shifted it back.

“Tony, if you’re this nervous, maybe I shouldn’t be here.”

Tony looked over at Bruce, who was sitting in the chair to his right. “No, it’s totally fine. Although, if you hulk out and break the Chihuly, I’m making you pay for it.”

Bruce had a unique ability to smile and frown at the same time. “Well, that’s fine. I’ve got a friend who’s a billionaire playboy philanthropist. I’m sure he’d help me out.”

“Really? That’s weird, you’d think I’d have met this guy by now. Also, you left out genius, and that’s, like, the most important part.”

“I didn’t forget. I omitted." Bruce smirked.

“Ugh. Rude." Tony leaned back in his chair.

“Your guests have arrived, sir,” said Jarvis.

“Excellent. Finally." Tony practically launched himself from his chair, then threw his arms wide and yelled, “Hey, good to see ya, let’s get this thing started!” up at the balcony.

Clint, Sam, Natasha, Steve and Bucky all trailed down the stairs.

Tony clapped his hands. “C’mon, people, this isn’t a wedding procession.”

Natasha smiled. “I don’t know, Sam and Clint are awful cute together.”

“Well, their budding romance will have to wait, we’ve got stuff to do,” Tony replied without missing a beat.

Clint looked at Sam. “You know anything we say will only make it worse.”

Sam sighed. “I just hope my mom’s not too disappointed. She thought I should marry a doctor.”

“Like that, for example,” Clint said.

“All right, folks, here’s the gameplan. Bartonov, you two keep a close eye on Barnes. You each have some perspective on his situation, so let me know when I push too hard or whatever. Wilson, your job is to keep Rogers from hitting Banner, or me. Not sure which is worse, really, so let’s not do either. Steve, your job is to sit there all pretty, and . . .“ Tony held his arm out, inviting Steve to finish for him.

“Not hit anybody. Got it,” he answered, looking both chagrined and annoyed.

“Let it go, Tony,” Bruce said. “He didn’t hit me, and I provoked him.”

“No, he’s right,” said Steve. “I should never --”

“Barnes,” Tony interrupted. “All I need from you is to stay inside the circle here,” he gestured at the chairs, “and keep us updated on how you’re doing. We want you safe and comfortable, so let somebody know if you aren’t both of those." 

Bucky didn’t look especially comfortable, wrapped up in what must have been a truly enormous hoodie to make him seem so small, with his eyes barely visible from deep inside the hood and his hands buried in the pockets, but he nodded anyway.

“Okay then,” Tony said. “Settle yourselves wherever you can do your jobs best." He waggled his hand at the chairs. 

Bucky looked to Steve. Steve hid a sigh and sat in the nearest chair. Bucky sat to his left. Sam sat to his right. Natasha sat across from them.

Bruce pulled a case from behind his chair and propped it awkwardly in the seat, bending over it.

Clint climbed up onto the balcony and fiddled with his hearing aid as he lowered himself down behind the railing.

Tony shook his head at him. “I don’t know why I even brought a chair for you, Katniss,” he said at normal Tony volume.

“Yeah, you’d think you’d be smarter than that,” Clint called down.

“Jarvis, amplify Barton so the whole class can hear without him raising his voice.”

“Consider it done, sir.”

Bucky looked around for the source of the voice, frowning as he couldn’t find one.

“Probably should have explained about Jarvis,” Clint said, quite clearly.

“Oh, right. Jarvis is the interface for my O.S. Ask for him anywhere in the building, and he’ll take care of damn near anything you need. Just think of him like a butler. A digital butler, but whatever.”

Bucky didn’t look any less bewildered than before the explanation, but Tony carried on. “Let’s start with a demonstration. Bruce, come over here and do me.”

Bruce answered Tony’s smirk with a blank faced stare that didn’t admit to amusement or annoyance. He reached into the case, pulled out three small spheres, and rolled them on the floor. Next, he pulled out a small stuffed rabbit and threw it at Tony.

The instant Tony touched the rabbit, the spheres changed directions and formed beside him in an equilateral triangle.

A glowing display formed above the spheres as Bruce adjusted the controls on his tablet. The image sharpened to show the bones of two feet, about twice actual size. The toes wiggled enthusiastically.

“Now, the display is nice and all, but the real innovation is Doctor Flopsy here." Tony shook the stuffed rabbit, making the display lag a little. “Doctor Flopsy can dial in on anything from bones to nerves, in real time. Which means . . ." The display panned up sharply, then phased deeper, to show the inner workings of Tony’s brain.

It was a riotous place, with impulses racing to and fro and sudden flares blossoming at random and dashing off or fading away.

Tony sang, “Isn’t she lovely?” and lights flared simultaneously in several areas. “It’s pain-free, non-invasive, and totally awesome, with none of that awkward touching that usually happens with this sort of thing. So, Barnes, you ready? We’ll start with the feet and work our way up to the interesting stuff.”

He held the bunny out to Bucky, dangling it by one ear.

Bucky took it.

A new pair of feet appeared, much less fidgety than than the last pair, and with perfectly straight toes.

“Huh,” said Tony. He looked over Bruce’s shoulder at the tablet. “Jarvis, can we throw the results of the scan I did with the suit the other day up there, too?”

“Not with this hardware, sir. I’m afraid it is rather single-minded.”

“Well, that’s what I get for subcontracting."

“What does that mean?” Steve demanded.

“Just that the display device was made by the late, unlamented Aldridge Killian, which is why it isn’t as good as mine. I only used it because it seemed less likely to trigger Barnes than a bank of monitors." Tony made grabby hands at Bruce, who handed him the tablet. He hit some buttons and a static image appeared. The detail wasn’t as fine, but it clearly showed an old break in the first metatarsal of the left foot.

He flipped back, and the break was gone.

“Usually, an old break will always be there, in the same way that a scar on your skin would. There aren’t many people who can heal completely, but it looks like Barnes is now one of them.”

The scan rolled upward, over the legs.

“I shudder to think what it took to break a femur like yours, but it’s almost done repairing itself now.”

Bucky shrugged.

“Internal organs. A place for everything and everything in its place. Very good. That crack on your humerus is gone." Tony bounced in place. “Now we get to the fun stuff.”

The display scrolled ever so slowly over Barnes’ metal arm. To anyone who wasn’t Tony Stark, it mostly looked like a jumble of springs, bands, gears and processors.

Tony readjusted the controls. He winced when the shoulder came back into view. “That’s not how I would have connected it. Jesus. The scapula is a mess. If the inside of the prosthetic was shaped right, we could connect into the socket like it’s supposed to, and we wouldn’t need screws. While we’re at it, we should cut the weight by about half, and then it could be --”

“Design on your own time, Stark,” Natasha interrupted.

“Ugh, but look at . . ." His voice trailed off as he spun the display around, and he blinked down at the tablet. “The, um, the balance is all off. See in here,” he gestured at the display with his left hand. With his right, he subtly pressed a button on his tablet.

The display winked out.

Tony frowned at the spheres. “Are you kidding me here? Jarvis, can you get it back online?”

“It appears not, sir.”

“All right, whatever. The display is the flash, not the substance." He changed his settings again, and shot a meaningful glance at Bruce.

Bruce ambled across to him, and Tony turned himself so that Bruce would be facing away from Steve when he saw the screen.

The screen showed a normal, healthy brain. Nestled deep inside it was the clear outline of an ornately carved metal letter Z.

It hung there, bright and crisp, suspended in the glow of the surrounding brain tissue. The sharp angular lines of it were brutally unnatural, an instrument of pure torture in the most vulnerable place possible.

Tony noticed the way Bruce’s jaw tightened. “Hey, if you want, you could go grab a tablet from the other room. So we’d both have one. Since the display went out.”

The screen clearly indicated that the display was switched to ‘off’.

“Yeah,” said Bruce. “I’ll go do that.”

As Bruce climbed the stairs, Clint stood and pulled out his phone. “Since we’re taking a break, I’ll grab some water bottles for everyone,” he said. 

“Great,” Tony answered. “Bruce can show you where to find them.”

The text Clint sent was to Jarvis. It said “mute”.

By the time the door closed behind them, he received the reply - “done”.

“What’s going on Bruce?” he asked once they were far enough down the hall. “When Tony acts subtle, I get real nervous.”

Bruce held up one finger. After a deep breath, he said, “Jarvis, send the scan to Barton’s phone.”

“Romanov’s too." Clint said. 

“On it’s way sir.”

Bruce waited as Barton looked at the results. 

“Oh, Christ. Z for Zola. Rat bastard." Clint looked like he was ready to crush his phone.

“There’s some lingering inflammation around it. I think he might have had an infection that he never quite threw off, before he got the transfusion. I can’t believe he survived, let alone that he managed to find Steve,” said Bruce. “There is not enough calming tea in the world to be able to deal with what HYDRA does to people."


	7. Chapter 7

“So how many of these arms have you gone through?” Tony asked, watching his tablet.

“Six." Even Bucky looked surprised at how readily he answered.

“Cool. What happened to the one before this?” Tony asked, taking a drink from his water bottle.

“Crushed in the treads of an M1 Abrams." Bucky answered dispassionately. Then a deeply disturbed look washed over his face.

Tony crinkled his forehead in thought. “When that happened, was it daytime or nighttime?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember that happening. I just… It’s like it’s from the Smithsonian.”

“The Smithsonian?”

“It’s a museum. In Washington.”

“Mm hm,” Tony answered covering his mouth with his hand.

Steve sighed. “There was an --

“No, no. I need Barnes to answer. You can have a turn with Doctor Flopsy later.”

Bucky looked at Steve.

“Sorry. Go ahead." Steve said.

Bucky sighed. “The things there were data. I only know them from the museum. Except Steve.”

Tony nodded. “So, what about the arm before that?”

“Subject failure.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s not good.”

“And the arm before that?”

“Slow down, Stark,” Clint said from the balcony.

“Subversive design flaws.”

“Wow. Jesus. I don’t suppose there’s a story there?”

“No.”

“Hey Barnes,” Natasha said. “You should go ahead and drink some of your water. It’ll give you a moment to collect your thoughts.”

Bucky looked at Steve.

Steve nodded. He unclenched his hands as Bucky drank. 

Sam nudged him. “Hey, you alright?”

“Sure.”

Sam gave Steve a look, but that was all there was time for.

“Only a few more to go,” said Tony. “The fourth one back, or the second one, if you want to count that direction.”

“Destroyed by incendiary grenade.”

“Thermite?”

“White phosphorus.”

“Yep, that’d do it. What about the last one? Well, the first one.”

“Subject failure.”

“And all of that is like the Smithsonian?”

“Affirmative.”

“Can we be done now Tony?” Steve asked. “Do you have what you need?”

Tony looked down at his tablet and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess that’s enough. Um, you remember the other day when we talked about my parents? And I said that you should cushion the blow? Well, the thing is, I don’t actually know how to do that either. I mean, you can ask Pepper. There was this time I tried to make her an omelet and fly her off to --”

“Tony,” Bruce interrupted.

“Yeah, okay. Stalling, I admit. Sorry. The thing is, the display didn’t break. I turned it off. I needed to get a clear reading, and if you saw it, the data would have been…”

Natasha handed Steve her phone.

“...skewed. Unreadable.”

“Oh my God,” Steve breathed. “What is that?”

“There’s a couple of possibilities." Tony answered.

Bucky looked at Steve.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself before he turned the phone toward Bucky. 

Bucky looked at the image. His face seemed as if it was made of stone. He studied the scan, then turned to Tony. “What possibilities?”

“Could be it was used as a focus for an electrical current. I think the better bet is that they used magnets to pull it around." Tony flipped the display back on. “Either way, the results are the same. This is what it looked like when I asked if the thing with the tank happened at night or in the day." A cloud of light flared in the front of the brain, gathered itself and funneled deeper until it crashed into the area around the Z. There it stopped with brutal finality. “It’s been damaging and re-damaging Barnes’ brain, right in the area where memory is processed.”

The video looped and played back again.

“Now, for most people, re-damaging the brain would be redundant. But just like your bones, you guys can heal in ways most of us can’t.”

“Wait." Steve stood and walked to the display. “The memories are still there?”

“That one is at least. Look what happened when he mentioned you.”

If the memory of the tank was a cloud, this was a thunderstorm. Lights flared virtually everywhere, splashing together at random and hurling against the Z. A tiny portion of them spilled around the edges and sprang free so they could be processed.

“It’s likely some memories were destroyed in HYDRA’s earlier attempts, but clearly some of them survived. We can do surgery, get that --”

Bucky launched himself across the room, leapt up the wall, caught the balcony railing and hauled himself over it, all before Tony got another word out. Clint rolled away as Bucky smashed apart the doors and sprinted down the hall.

A half-second later, Steve sprinted past as well.

“Well, it’s good to know that a panic attack looks just like it feels,” Tony said. “Jarvis, bring up the building schematic.”

A three-dimensional view of the Tower appeared, complete with a pulsing red dot labeled ‘Barnes’ moving down a hallway.

“Should somebody go after them?” Bruce asked.

 

The darkness was absolute.

“Bucky?” said a voice in another room.

There was no answer.

Footsteps, coming closer.

A rectangle of light opened in the black. Silhouetted against it was a man, tall and broad, slumped and dejected. “Bucky?” he said again.

The rectangle began to shrink away, taking the silhouette with it.

“Steve,” another voice whispered.

“Bucky!” Steve rushed halfway across the space, then slowed and put his hands in his pockets.  
The door swung gently against its frame, leaving a line of light that divided the room in two.

“Are you hurt? You hit some of those doors pretty hard.”

“No injuries.”

Steve turned to Bucky’s voice. His hands yanked free of their pockets, but he caught himself before he reached out too far.

Bucky was huddled beside a metal cabinet, sitting on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees.

Steve carefully settled himself beside him. “I wish . . . “ He trailed off, running his hands through his hair.

“That I wasn’t so weak and useless? Yeah, I wish that, too.”

“God, no, Buck. You’re probably the strongest person I know. To survive what they put you through for so long. To still be able to find some part of yourself again, and start to rebuild. I think you’re amazing.”

Bucky pushed his hood off. Steve was looking earnestly at him. He looked away. “You have really low standards,” he mumbled.

“Right,” said Steve. “That’s why I spend my time with the Avengers, instead of some really heroic group of people.”

“What did you wish then, if it wasn’t that?”

“Nothing. It was embarrassing. And selfish.”

“C’mon, Steve, you got to see all of my insides back there, you could at least tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Oh geez,” Steve said, looking at the ceiling, “You always were good at talking me into things.”

“Yeah? I figured it was the other way around. Everything said that I followed you.”

“Only when I outranked you.”

“I can’t let them cut into me,” Bucky said all in a rush. “I’m sorry, I know you want me to, so I can remember. I want that, too, but I can’t. I just can’t.”

“I know,” Steve said quietly.

“Was your wish that I could stop hurting you? Because I wish that more than anything.”

“No,” Steve said, nearly a moan. “Please stop guessing.”

“But --”

“I wanted to hug you. You were so sad and lost, and I wanted to make you feel better. That’s all.”

Bucky peered at him. “You said it was selfish.”

“Because it is. I know it’s too much, especially right now, in a maintenance closet. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. But it’s not fair that when you need that kind of thing the most is right when you can’t have it. I don’t --”

“Steve.”

“What?”

“Hold still a minute.”

“Bucky, you don’t have to --”

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders and rested his cheek against his hair. 

 

“Sir, Captain Roger’s heart rate has increased 10%.”

“How do we know this?” asked Sam.

“He picked up Doctor Flopsy,” Tony answered. “Put him on screen, Jarvis.”

The display showed an x-ray image of a man sitting on a floor. A pair of arms, one of them metal, appeared around his shoulders.

“We should probably turn this off,” said Bruce.

“Don’t you dare,” replied Natasha.

“Why Ms. Romanov, I had no idea your tastes ran this direction,” Tony teased.

“Yes, a spy who likes to watch people. It’s shocking, really." Natasha has a remarkable ability to roll her eyes without actually rolling her eyes.

The skeletons broke apart from each other, still sitting on the floor together.

Bruce tapped his pencil against his hand. “I feel like we should discuss this, because I would not be okay with being watched.”

“Well, I’m not okay with Barnes smashing Steve’s face in again, either,” Natasha said.

“Steve can take care of himself,” said Bruce.

Natasha and Sam exchanged a look, and Tony took a sudden interest in the ceiling.

“So, I am missing something, then,” Bruce said.

Tony took a deep breath. “You know how the surveillance footage from helicarrier Charlie was destroyed?” He made little air quotes with his fingers. “Well, it showed pretty clearly that in the middle of a truly brutal fight with Barnes, Steve dropped his shield. Very much on purpose. Then he just let Barnes beat the holy hell out him. I mean, I guess it worked, but, anyway, that’s the reason the video never got into the hands of the military. Because I really do believe in privacy.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

The skeleton on the display was sitting with his shoulder against another shoulder.

“Did anyone else ever dress up as one of them for Halloween?” Clint asked.

Bruce nodded.

“I wrote a term paper about the Howling Commandos in high school,” Sam said. “Got an A, too.”

Tony sighed. “I learned French so I could take Dernier’s class at the Science Institute in Lyon.”

“I was taught that Steve was an example of America’s cartoonish lust for power,” said Natasha. “They never mentioned Barnes.”

“That’s too bad,” Bruce said. “He was the best part. Always at Steve’s side, no matter what the Nazis threw at them. Brave, loyal, the best friend a hero could have.”

“Sounds like a Labrador retriever,” said Natasha.

“Be nice. He’s who I wanted to be when I grew up. Granted, that didn’t really work out the way I had pictured, but still.”

“Yeah, Nat,” said Clint. “You can’t hold a grudge against everybody who tries to kill you.”

Natasha turned to look up at the balcony. “I can only make so many exceptions.”

“Well, as long as I’m on the list.”  


"You know you are.”

 

Steve sat perfectly still as Bucky held him. The only movement was of his eyes falling closed.

When Bucky let him go a brief eternity later, Steve said, “See, I told you that you were amazing. You couldn’t have done that a few days ago.”

“Yeah, maybe by next week I can manage an entire shower, instead of just half of one.”

“Sam says all forward progress counts.”

“Sam probably doesn’t still have soap in his hair.”

Steve chuckled. “That doesn’t make him wrong.”

Bucky bumped his shoulder against Steve’s.

They sat wordlessly, shoulder to shoulder against the darkness.

A deep rumbling in the floor made the metal cabinet rattle against itself.

“You know, we have a perfectly good couch we could sit on back at the apartment,” Steve said.

“Do we have any more Cheese-toes?”

“No, but we could try those triangle ones.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, getting to his feet. “Triangles sound good."


	8. Chapter 8

A large pile of presents was artfully arranged on the coffee table in Steve and Bucky’s living room. The wrappings were all in matching shades of blue, brown, and white, and each one was tied in a shiny red ribbon with a shiny red bow. A cluster of star-shaped balloons in metallic red and blue floated cheerfully above them, with a dangling card that read ‘Happy Housewarming, from Pepper and Tony’.

“Wow,” Steve said when he saw them.

“Hopefully that means Stark isn’t kicking me out, yet,” Bucky said.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I broke three of his doors. And I think I lost Doctor Flopsy.”

Steve reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out the stuffed rabbit, and set it on the table. “I found it in the hallway, before I found you. And Tony’s pretty laid back about things like broken doors. I think he’s broken more than a few of them himself.”

Bucky plucked one of the balloon strings, setting the whole cluster bobbing to and fro.

“So, should we open presents first, or eat chips?” Steve asked.

Bucky tried to run his hand through his hair, but he got tangled up. He sighed.

“Or, you could try taking a bath. It might be easier for you than a shower.”

Bucky gave Steve an uncertain, vulnerable look.

“C’mon. I’ll talk you through it." 

 

Steve rummaged through the bathroom cabinets while the tub filled. He came out with a collection of bottles. Bucky looked dubious as Steve lined them up on the counter. He moved from dubious to skeptical as Steve poured something from a pink container into the running water, making a swirl of bubbles appear.

Steve just smiled when he saw Bucky’s raised eyebrow.

The swirl of bubbles had become a small mountain by the time the tub was filled to Steve’s satisfaction and he shut the water off.

He turned to Bucky. “Okay, you can undress and get in.”

Bucky shrugged and unzipped his hoodie.

Steve turned around and artistically arranged the bottles on the counter until he heard Bucky settle into the bath.

“Can you handle dunking your head under the water, or should I go find . . .”

Bucky slouched down and disappeared into the bubbles for a long moment.

When he came back up, Steve was holding one of the bottles. “Put out your hand, and I’ll pour you some shampoo.”

A thick stream of peach-colored shampoo filled Bucky’s palm.

“Now use your fingers and work it all through your hair. Make sure you get your scalp clean, too." Steve put his hands in his own hair and make scrinching motions.

Bucky did the same, tilting his head back and closing his eyes once he got the hang of it.

The scars around his metal arm had healed away, leaving perfect, smooth skin where they had once been. Steve caught himself looking and turned away to pick out another bottle from the counter. “When you’re done, you can dunk again to rinse off.”

After Bucky came back up, Steve tilted the new bottle at him, so he held out his hand like before. This time it filled with a pearlescent liquid, more opaque than the shampoo, but the same shade of peach.

“That’s conditioner. Do the same thing with it as you did with the shampoo,” said Steve.

“It smells like you.”

Steve blinked.

“I smelled it when I hugged you.”

Steve blinked twice.

“That was awkward to say, wasn’t it?”

A lopsided smile quirked Steve’s lips. “Um, a little. You’re just very direct, and I'm not used to it, yet.”

Bucky pondered.

“I like it, though,” Steve went on. 

Bucky tilted a shy smile up at him, which made Steve break out into a grin. Then he worked the conditioner into his hair.

As Bucky rinsed, Steve pulled a chair over and sat down with his sketchbook and pencil. “Now you can lie back and soak for as long as you want." He set the conditioner bottle back in its spot and started blocking out the shapes of the arrangement in his sketchbook.

Bucky laid back and closed his eyes.

When Steve started working on shading, Bucky mumbled, “I can hear your pencil.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No, it’s nice. It sounds . . ." He frowned, eyes still closed, searching for the right word. He rested his arms on the sides of the tub. “I like it,” he said finally.

Steve glanced at him over his drawing of the bottles.

It was meant to be a glance. But he got caught up in the tilt of Bucky’s chin. The set of his shoulders. The relaxed confidence that somehow showed in the way his hands dangled into the bubbles. It made Steve’s forehead crinkle and his hands go still.

“Comfortable!” Bucky smiled up at Steve, a bright, sunny smile that wasn’t shy at all. “It sounds comfortable.

Helpless before the power of that smile, Steve let out a startled laugh. “Well, I’ll be sure to do it more often, then.”

Bucky’s smile developed a smug little curve to it as he closed his eyes and nestled back against the tub.

Steve slowly blinked his eyes before he turned back to his sketchbook and started shading another bottle.

 

Steve’s drawing was a bit of a mess. The proportions were good, the arrangement was dynamic, but the shading had gotten out of hand. He shrugged and turned to a clean page.

“Are you done drawing?” Bucky asked.

“I can be, if you’re done soaking.”

Bucky swished his hand through the bubbles, which had diminished quite a bit by then. “The water isn’t very warm anymore.”

“Okay. I’ll put away all this and you can dry off and get dressed.”

Steve pocketed his sketchbook and put the bottles from the counter back into the cabinet, taking far more time and attention than was necessary for the task.

Bucky was dressed. His hair was a tangled mess, and his face was going from stubbly to bearded, but he was clean and his clothes were on.

“You’re going to need a comb." Steve opened a drawer and found one.

Bucky took it, stuck it into the top of his hair, and yanked down on it.

Steve grimaced.

Bucky yanked harder.

“Try starting at the bottom,” said Steve.

Bucky looked thoroughly nonplussed by this advice.

Steve made incomprehensible combing motions near his shoulder.

Bucky pulled the comb out of his hair, tossed it into a nifty double flip, and held it out to Steve.

Steve raised his eyebrows and looked like he was about to speak, but he took the comb instead. He stepped behind Bucky and started working out tangles with quick, practiced movements.

Bucky watched him in the mirror, thoughtfully. “Did you ever have long hair?”

“No.”

“Then why do you know how to do that?”

Steve paused. “I think that’s a story for another time. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Most of the tangles were out, and Steve made long, smooth sweeps with the comb and with the flat of his hand. Once he was able to go through all of it without hitting any snags, he set down the comb, swept both hands through and pulled all the hair back. With a deft twist, he wrapped it into a ball, then secured it with the pencil from his pocket.

Bucky reached back and patted it with his hand, twisting to see as much as he could in the mirror.

“So, were you planning on having a beard, or did you want to try shaving? Electric razors work pretty well, and they can’t cut you.”

Bucky touched his own cheek while looking at Steve’s “Can you show me?”

“Sure." Steve sorted through drawers and came up with a trimmer and a shaver. “You won’t need to use this every time,” he said, holding up the trimmer, “but you’ve gotten pretty shaggy, so it’s a good way to start.”

He flipped a switch and the trimmer purred to life. Tilting his head back, he ran the trimmer up his neck to his chin. “Just try to go against the direction the hair grows. And be careful around the ears. You don’t want to go much higher than the bottom of your nose." He drew an imaginary line from the bottom of his nose to his ear to demonstrate, and trimmed carefully to it.

He handed the trimmer over and watched as Bucky used it. “You know, the first time I ever shaved was with your safety razor. I didn’t know about changing the blade, so it was dull, and probably rusty, too. When you got home and saw the mess I’d made, you said ‘Jesus, Stevie, it looks like a massacre in here.’”

“Must have been worried, if I called you Stevie.”

“Huh. I guess so,” Steve said. “Then you said, ‘I better teach you how, because death by shaving is no way for a man to go out. Imagine your tombstone. Here lies Steven Grant Rogers. At least his chin was smooth.’” 

Steve smiled, and Bucky smiled back.

“Did he . . . I. Did I teach you?”

“Yes. First you showed me how to change the blade. Then you bandaged my thumb when I did it wrong," Steve smiled wryly. “After that, you squeezed the tube of Barbasol into my hand, told me to lather up, and showed me how to shave.”

Bucky turned off the trimmer and picked up the shaver. “And now I do the same thing with this?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky hesitated. “Why do we have to do everything twice?”

“I . . . I don’t know, Buck. You want to stop here?”

“May as well see it through,” Bucky said with a shrug. “And next we have triangles?”

“Sure thing.”

 

The coffee table held a smaller stack of presents, a recently unwrapped glass jar full of small plastic bricks, a stuffed bunny, and triangle chips. There was a bag for each of them, one red and one blue.

“Why do snack foods all have toes in their names?” Bucky asked, picking up the blue bag.  


“I think they’re all from the same company.”

Bucky studied the bag. “Doo Rye Toes. Do-Right-O’s. Sounds like they named them after you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Sure it does. Look, the bag is even the same blue as your uniform, Captain Do-Right-O.”

Steve smirked. “What does that make you? Sergeant Cool Ranch?”

“Absolutely. They’re the best kind." That curvy smile was back again.

Steve leaned over sideways with unfettered laughter. He took a breath to gather himself. “Well then, you should pick out the next present.”

Bucky leaned forward on the couch and grabbed the biggest box. He pulled it into his lap and tore off the paper to reveal a box labeled “Ice Cream Maker”.

“That could be fun,” said Steve. “As long as there’s no pineapple and green olive.”

“I’m not making any promises.”

Steve said “Ewww,” and laughed at the same time.

Bucky dropped a present in his lap.

Steve ripped off the wrappings. “Juggling balls. Huh.”

“You know how to juggle?”

“I’ve never tried, but I’m all right at throwing things. So are you. You want to try?”

“Jarvis?” Bucky said to the air.

“How may I assist you, sir?”

“Can you show us how to juggle?”

“Certainly." A projection appeared in front of the couch. It showed a man and woman, about eight feet apart, throwing white clubs in high, looping arcs to each other.

“Looks like it’s mostly a matter of timing,” Steve said. “Though the high ceilings seem important.”

“The training room has high ceilings,” said Bucky.

Jarvis said, “The training room also has batons similar to what are shown in the video. My research indicates they may be a more suitable option if the two of you intend to perform together.”

 

The weapons room held much more than batons, of course. The guns alone filled several sets of racks. Color-coded arrows and an assortment of bows filled another. Several large hammers, devoid of runes, took up a shelf under a row of shiny round shields that had no stars. There were axes, poles, tasers, stingers, wooden batons.

And knives. Ugly machetes, sleek stilettos, jagged hunting knives, and an entire shelf labeled ‘throwing knives’.

Steve and Bucky met each others eyes.

Bucky smiled his curved smile.

Steve picked up three throwing knives.

Bucky picked up three more


	9. Chapter 9

Natasha leaned against the Observation Room wall and looked through the window. She didn’t turn at the sound of the door opening behind her.

“Son of a bitch,” said Tony as he came in. “Seriously, could they have found anything more dangerous to do?”

On the other side of the glass, Steve and Bucky were cheerfully tossing knives at each other. There were currently four blades flickering back and forth between them.

“Jarvis, why didn’t you talk them out of this?” Tony asked.

“I did attempt it, sir. However, my success rate at talking members of the Avengers out of putting themselves in harm’s way remains abysmally low.”

The door opened again. Natasha looked over as Clint came through it. He leaned against the wall opposite hers and watched through the window.

“Nice,” said Clint. “They’re pretty good.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Great. I’ll have them join the talent show for the next Expo.”

Clint nodded. “Well, if they want to look really impressive, they should light the blades on fire.”

“Okay, that’s actually true. Jarvis, put Clint in charge of the talent show.”

Natasha shot Tony a look.

“Hey, if Barnes couldn’t handle it, he’d have freaked by now. How’d you even know they were in there?”

“I set up a security program to alert me if Barnes takes anything out of the Weapons Room.”

Steve said something to Bucky, inaudible from behind the glass. When Bucky answered, they each pulled another knife out and added them to the mix. Then Bucky grinned, and Steve laughed loudly enough that the others could hear it.

“Ugh, we have to get that thing out of his brain, like, now,” said Tony.

“Steve will never go for it. Not unless Barnes wants to do it,” said Clint.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll text Steve the numbers on how far away an electro-magnet can work.”

Natasha snorted. “You think it hasn’t occurred to him? No. He knows HYDRA will try to kill Barnes, or reprogram him again. He’d just rather risk that than risk betraying his trust.”

Tony sighed. “I’ve got Hill working out all the logistics. When Barnes says go, we can have him in surgery within twelve hours.”

“Is that why she didn’t show?” Natasha asked. “I figured she’d want to see this.”

“No, she told Pepper she had a date.”

Natasha smiled. “That’s an interesting coincidence. Sam said he did, too.”

“Awesome,” said Tony. “If they become a couple, I’m calling them Hillson.”

“Thank goodness we have that worked out,” said Clint. “I was worried they’d get stuck being called by their actual names.”

“I will never let that happen, Hawkdude,” Tony said solemnly.

Clint shook his head, but a tiny smile crossed his face.

 

Pepper was gathering her dirty dishes when Steve and Bucky entered the dining area, walking so close together their shoulders were nearly touching and carrying heaping bowls of ice cream.

“Hello, Pepper,” Steve called, and they both smiled broadly as they crossed to her.

“Wow, you two certainly seem cheerful. I guess knife juggling agrees with you.”

Steve’s eyebrows rose. “You know about that?” he asked as he and Bucky sat down.

“Tony sent me a video. Did they not tell you they were watching?”

“Uh, no, they did not. Well, this should be interesting.”

Bucky turned to Steve. “But they won’t . . . “

“No. Sam might scold me, is all. No punishments. Not ever.”

Pepper schooled her expression like the professional she was, the depth of her emotion showing only in her uncharacteristic stoicism.

Bucky looked down at his bowl. “Did we used to eat ice cream together?”

“Oh, we were lucky when we could afford apples. Ice cream wasn’t really an option." He took a bite. “Mmm, and I’m pretty sure double-fudge chocolate hadn’t been invented, yet.”

Steve watched as Bucky scooped up a spoonful and ate it. Bucky’s eyes fluttered, and he exhaled gently, biting into his bottom lip after he swallowed.

Pepper looked back and forth between him and Steve, who was still watching Bucky and looking a bit dazed.

All three of them jumped when Steve’s phone rang.

He fumbled it out of his pocket and checked the screen. “Yeah, it’s Sam. I better talk to him. Excuse me." He stood and walked to the furthest table.

Bucky watched him go.

“How are you doing today, Barnes?”

He turned to Pepper and thought for a moment. “I found out that someone put a piece of metal in my brain, like he wanted to brand the inside of my head. But I also found out that Steve tilts over sideways if I make him laugh just right. I was even able to hug him without hitting him. And maybe someday he can hug me, too." He looked down at his ice cream. “But sometimes I say things out loud when I shouldn’t. So, I don’t really know how I’m doing,” he said, meeting her eyes again.

Pepper smiled sadly at him. “Saying things out loud can be a good way to start working on a problem, though.”

 

“Steve Rogers,” said Steve into his phone.

“Tony Stark sent me a video,” Sam said.

“Look, I admit, it was probably not the best idea. But everything turned out fine.”

“I trust your judgment,” said Sam. “Nobody knows him better than you.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I would like to know what prompted it, because you laughed when I suggested Ultimate Fighting, and then he gets you to do that.”

“I don’t know. Pepper gave us juggling balls, and then we were going to try batons, instead, but he smiled at me --” Steve cringed as if he wished he could suck those words back in. “It seemed like fun. You’re not worried about him having weapons?”

Sam scoffed. “I’ve seen what he can do with that arm of his. Weapons aren’t much of an issue.”

“That’s true. So you called because . . ?”

“Tony Stark sent me a video! I'm not allowed to tell anybody that would be impressed, so I’m telling you, instead.”

 

“Why does it have to be so much work, though?” Bucky asked, following Steve out of the bathroom in their apartment. “Shampoo and conditioner. Trimming and shaving. Brushing and flossing.”

Steve stood by his dresser and started emptying his pockets into a tray. “Well, shampoo is for cleaning, conditioner is for tangles, trimming is because long hairs gunk up the razor, and brushing and flossing are for cleaning your teeth and getting rid of germs.”

“Germs? The Smithsonian said you can’t get sick." Bucky hadn’t found anything in his own pockets.

“I guess not, but I definitely can get bad breath. Nobody wants that." Steve pulled a chain with a pair of dog tags out of his pocket and coiled it in the tray. He set his sketchbook on his nightstand and turned to Bucky. “You should probably take your hair down before you go to bed.”

Bucky reached back and pulled the pencil from his hair. He ran his thumb over it before setting it in the tray on his dresser.

Steve sorted through one of the dresser drawers. “Well, uh, there is a bed in here, and another bed in the other room. You could sleep alone in either one, or we could share one of them,” he said, never taking his eyes off the drawer.

“We shared before.”

“I know. But I wanted to make sure you know that you have a choice. And just because you chose to do something once doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it. You can change your mind.”

“You don’t want to share,” Bucky asked.

“That’s not what I’m saying." Steve frowned intensely at a stack of white undershirts. “I need to be sure that you decide things for yourself. Based on what you want.”

“But why wouldn’t I want that?”

“It doesn’t matter why. Any reason. No reason. If it’s not what you want, then it’s not what we’ll do.”

“Is that why Pepper said I should ask for things?” he asked, crossing his arms and leaning on the dresser.

“Probably?” Steve finally gave up on pretending to be interested in undershirts and turned to Bucky. “I don’t know what she said, but she’s incredibly smart, especially about people.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Can I stay with you?”

“Yes,” Steve answered, almost before Bucky finished. “Of course. And I found some pajama pants. They’re more comfortable than sleeping in jeans. Most of them are plaid, but there’s a pair that’s blue with stars.”

Bucky shrugged and held out his hand. Steve handed him an undershirt and the pants with the stars. He set out a blue and brown plaid pair for himself. They changed without speaking.

When Steve turned around, Bucky was already lying on top of the covers. Steve got in beside him and turned out the light.

Everything went still.

Into the darkness Bucky said, “When you ask for things, it means they’ll know what you want. What you need.”

Steve rolled to his left to look at him, forehead crinkled and eyes soft and wide.

“It’s better when you don’t need anything,” Bucky went on, looking at the ceiling. “Then they can’t take it away from you. Or make you destroy it.”

Steve’s hand clenched white-knuckle tight around the edge of the covers. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. “I think there are a lot of things that were true for you in there, but aren’t anymore. And it’s going to take some time for you to really trust those changes.”

Bucky turned to Steve, his eyes shadowed with horrors that he couldn’t remember and couldn’t escape.

Steve forced himself to open his hand. His fingers splayed wide on the quilt. “You’re so brave, sometimes I kind of forget how hard all this must be for you. I’m sorry.”

Bucky awkwardly twisted his right arm up from underneath himself, bringing it to rest, palm up, beside Steve’s. “I don’t need everything to go perfect.”

Steve smiled a little, and his hand relaxed. “Good night, Sergeant Cool Ranch.”

Bucky slid his hand forward until his fingertips disappeared under Steve’s smallest finger, not quite brushing against it. “Good night, Captain Do-Right-O.”

He tucked his metal arm behind his back, out of sight.


	10. Chapter 10

The clock on the nightstand read 2:58.  
Bucky’s eyes flashed wide. The metal arm was visible, hand spread on the quilt near Steve.  
Bucky snatched it back.  
He traced his fingers up to his shoulder, where metal met flesh.

 

The clock on the nightstand read 3:12.  
Steve’s eyes snapped open at the sound of rapid breaths half-snarled between teeth clenched in pain.  
There was a faint but distinct crack.

 

Tony was propped in bed, looking down at his tablet through his reading glasses, with one arm slung idly under the curve of Pepper’s back.

Pepper was looping yarn over a crochet hook and drawing it through the stitches of a small sliver of a scarf. “All I could think to say was that his first step should be to ask Steve, whenever there’s anything he wants, but especially that sort of thing.”

Tony looked over his glasses at her and grinned, totally smitten. “So, I leave you alone with a terrifying super-assassin for ten minutes, and you end up giving him advice on how to hug his boyfriend.”

“Ex-super-assassin. And I don’t think either of them are ready to call each other their boyfriend.”  


“Still, you’re . . . just incredibly perfect." He leaned over and slowly twisted his finger into the stretch of yarn between her hand and the skein.

“Mmm, look at you, all tangled up in my web." She pulled out a length of yarn and looped it around his wrist. 

He helpfully presented his other wrist with a soft smile that was as close to solemn as Tony was likely to get.

“Sir,” said Jarvis.

“I’m a little tied up right now,” Tony said, not looking away from Pepper. She rolled her eyes to cover how funny she thought he was.

“Captain Rogers is requesting assistance, sir." A glowing display appeared beside the bed, showing an x-ray with a mechanical arm.

“Shit.”

 

Bucky sat on the couch, clutching a stuffed rabbit in a blood-stained fist. A towel was draped over his shoulder, and both it and his undershirt were stained red.

The metal arm was making an ominous whirring noise.

Steve paced between the open front door and the couch where Bucky sat. “They’re nearly here, Buck.”

As Bucky nodded, jaw clenched, Iron Man rocketed through the door, followed closely by Sam.  


Tony shot a small silver disc at Bucky’s metal arm.

\-- kzzrt --

The arm crackled blue all over and fell limp into Bucky’s lap. 

His head lolled back in relief. “So much better." 

“One of Nat’s stingers?” Steve asked. 

Tony nodded as his suit disassembled itself into a rectangle beside him. He crouched down for a closer look at Bucky’s arm.

“I remembered what ‘subject failure’ means,” Bucky told him.

“Yeah, it looks like you did a pretty good job trying to tear it off." He showed Bucky his phone, which had an image of his x-ray. “You managed to pull a screw out of your bone, which is why the motion control got stuck. We’re gonna need to take the arm off, Barnes.”

“He has to decide for himself, Tony,” said Steve, glaring.

“So, you expect him to just keep a giant paperweight hanging off his shoulder? For how long?” said Tony.

Sam said, “That isn’t --”

“Steve,” said Bucky. 

Steve turned to him. 

“I need Tony to take the arm off. I need to get the thing out of my head, too,” Bucky said miserably.

“Can you tell us what changed your mind?” asked Tony.

Bucky looked away from all of them. “I didn’t think about the knives in the kitchen until after Steve woke up, but . . . well, I’m thinking about them now.”

Steve sank onto the couch next to him, looking dismal.

“Hey Barnes,” said Sam. “It looks like that towel isn’t doing the job. Can I patch you up? I know you’re not super comfortable with me, but --”

“I tried to kill you,” Bucky said.

Steve started to speak, but Sam beat him to it. “And I tried to kill you. But things are different now.”

Bucky seemed unconvinced.

“It’s my job to help people who are on the same side as I am,” said Sam. “Now, I joined up on Captain America’s side, and I’m pretty sure you did, too.”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered. “I’m on Steve’s side.

Steve looked at his knees.

“I’m on Tony’s side,” said Tony. “We have cake.”

Steve chuckled.

“I don’t see any reason not to be on both your sides,” said Sam. “Anyway, bandaging would be a good idea, and I’ve got training and experience. I’d like to help you, if you’re okay with that.”

Bucky bit his lip and barely nodded.

“Would it help if Steve held your hand?” Sam asked.

Steve looked at Bucky and set his hand on the seat between them.

Bucky took a deep breath. “Can I --”

“You don’t have to ask,” said Steve. “You don’t ever have to ask about that, okay?”

Bucky gave him a funny look, but wrapped his hand tight around Steve’s.

“Barnes,” said Sam, “Would you want me to tell you what I’m doing, or . . . “

“No. Just do it fast, okay?” Bucky said.

“Okay. I’ll get started." Sam pulled off the towel.

The skin around the metal arm was a tangled network of scratches and tears.

“That looks familiar,” said Tony, looking up from the brain scan on his phone.

“Yeah, it does,” Sam said, carefully applying clear glue to one of the bigger tears. “Dr. Banner thought maybe it was a reaction to the metal.”

“So to speak,” said Tony.

Bucky turned his head away, looking at Steve instead. After a moment, he said, “You’re supposed to be able to change your mind about this stuff,” wiggling their hands a little.

“That’s not going to happen. But if it did, I’d let you know,” said Steve.

“Almost done,” Sam said. “Can you tell me, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much pain you’re in?”

“Three?” Bucky said. “Maybe a four when the arm was still running.”

Sam nodded, taping a big rectangular bandage in place. “Hey Stark, you have any thoughts on a sling? Because the one I’ve got, I don’t think Barnes will like.”

Bucky looked ill. “No straps. I can’t.”

“All right, scoot over, Flappy Bird,” said Tony, punching something into a touchscreen on his suitcase.

It took Sam a moment to realize that meant him. He stepped aside, hiding a smile.

“Barnes, I need you to lean forward, and Steve, lift the arm up a little for him,” Tony said, not looking up.

“That will hurt,” Sam warned.

Steve looked at Bucky. Bucky nodded, bracing himself.

Steve lifted as gently as possible, but Bucky still hissed in a breath through his teeth.

Tony thumbed a button on the touchscreen, and several parts flew off the suitcase and assembled around Bucky, until his shoulder and upper arm were encased in Iron Man armor.

“Hot rod red is not your color, but it’ll do until tomorrow,” said Tony.


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed in the second bedroom.

Steve brought in a big bowl of water and a washcloth. He set them on the nightstand and knelt beside the bed. After he dipped the cloth and wrung it out, he looked up at Bucky. “Can I clean your hand?”

Bucky flopped his hand out onto his knee.

“You want to talk about it?” Steve asked, wiping at the dried blood on Bucky’s fingers.

“No.”

Steve nodded and dipped the cloth again, turning the water a dull brownish-pink.

He scrubbed in silence until all the stains were washed away.

 

When Steve came back from dumping the dirty water, Bucky was lying on top of the covers with his Iron Man clad arm propped on a pillow.

Steve sat on the other side of the bed, leaning his back against the wall. “Did you want to try to sleep?”

“No." Bucky frowned at nothing.

“Hey Jarvis, is there a way to watch cat videos in here?” Steve asked.

“Of course, sir.”

“What the hell are cat videos?” Bucky grumped.

A video window opened above the foot of the bed. It showed a gray kitten wiggling its backside dramatically before bounding across the floor and pouncing on a banana. It leapt instantly away and hid behind a chair, staring wide-eyed. A second later, it gathered its courage again and launched a second attack.

“Why would a cat even want a banana?” Bucky asked, sliding up so he could lean his back against the wall.

“I don’t think anyone really understands why cats do things,” Steve answered, pulling his sketchbook off the nightstand.

A new video started, showing a sleek Siamese batting at a sink handle until a stream of water started. The cat dipped its paw under the water, then daintily licked it dry. It dipped again, gave an offended look, and rapidly flicked its paw, splashing water everywhere and leaping off the sink.

Bucky peered over, but he couldn’t see what Steve was drawing.

A beautifully fluffy white cat sat primly on a cluttered desk. It swiped out its paw and knocked off a pencil cup. And a pad of paper. And a cell phone. And a bag.

Almost admiringly, Bucky muttered, “Punk.”

Steve turned to him expectantly, but Bucky was still looking at the screen. “Yeah, the internet loves rude cats,” he said, going back to his drawing.

Bucky leaned a little closer, but still couldn’t get a view of the sketchbook.

There was a video of a cat failing to jump on a windowsill, one of a cat succeeding at jumping on a ceiling fan, and one of a cat investigating a full bathtub much more thoroughly than it had intended.

Bucky gave up and scooted half-way across the bed, until he was practically leaning on Steve’s shoulder and had a clear line of sight to his drawing.

It showed two cartoonish cats, one light and one dark, holding up a big round shield as an umbrella against the rain.

The dark cat looked annoyed, and the light one looked worried.

“Does that one get a little metal leg?” Bucky asked, smiling.

Steve looked surprised. “Do you want it to?”

Bucky sighed deeply, keeping his eyes fixed on the drawing. “It’s not the metal that’s the problem. It’s knowing who made it, and what they’d want it to do.”

There were no scars for Bucky to look at, on Steve’s once-shattered cheekbone or the places his mouth had split, but Bucky looked at where they had once been.

Steve flipped his pencil over and erased the fuzzy lines of the dark cat’s front leg, then quickly replaced them with clean lines of banded metal. “Anything else?” he asked, looking back at Bucky.

“That other cat should smile more,” Bucky said, raising an eyebrow.

Steve raised an eyebrow right back. “They probably both should,” he said, and turned to a fresh page.

Bucky watched Steve’s hands as he started the next drawing.

Steve glanced over at him. “I’m boring. Watch the internet cats." He waved his hand at the screen.

“I’m pretty sure I can manage to watch you and keep track of the kitty attacking the grapefruit,” Bucky smirked.

“Suit yourself.”

“That’s what you keep telling me. So, why do cats hate fruit?”

Steve paused. “I never realized they did.”

“Jarvis, show more cat videos with fruit,” Bucky said, sitting up straight.

“Excellent choice, sir,” said Jarvis. 

A new video started, of a cat cringing away from a strawberry. There was one of a cat fleeing from an orange, another of a cat knocking grapes off a table one at a time, and one of a cat biting and clawing at a watermelon.

All the while, Bucky watched clever fingers deftly sketching a mismatched pair of cats.

The cats were definitely up to something. It was hard to tell what, because there were still empty spaces to be filled, but those cats were clearly trouble.

Then Steve curled around the book, blocking the view with his shoulder.

Bucky frowned. “I can’t see when you do that.”

“I know." Steve sketched faster.

“You know? But -- “

“Hang on a second." Steve drew for a moment. “Good enough." He sat back and tilted the drawing toward Bucky.

The two cats, the dark one pushing and the light one pulling, were carefully knocking over a cookie jar that was bigger than either of them. A few cookies were already tumbling out of the jar (which looked hastily drawn, but recognizable), and the cats were proudly smiling at each other as they worked.

“I was going to give them oranges,” Steve said, a little nervous, “but . . .”

“No, cookies are better. Cookies are . . . This is really great." Bucky smiled up into Steve’s eyes, delighted and surprised.

Steve blushed a little, but didn’t turn away. “I just wanted to give them something to smile about, like you said.”

Bucky broke into a full-on starlight grin. “You know, you’re pretty terrific.”

Steve blinked and started to shake his head.

“You are, though. I should have been telling you all along, but, anyway, I’m telling you now. You’re the best there is.”

Steve tilted his head and looked at Bucky through his lashes. He had the kind of shy, barely believing smile that only someone who has been an outcast can give. “Well, I guess you do only know about a dozen people.”

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, but they’re all Avengers. Unless there’s some other, more heroic group of people I should hang out with, instead.”

Steve huffed out a breath, then turned and started cleaning up the lines on the cookie jar. “Thanks, Buck. I think you’re terrific, too.”

Bucky curled up sideways across the bed. “Can I sleep here with you?”

“Whenever you want,” Steve said. He laid his hand on the bed, a few inches from Bucky’s.

Bucky stretched out and touched the back of his fingers to the back of Steve’s hand.

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, as if giving thanks, or asking forgiveness.

Then he turned another page, awkwardly, with one hand, and began to draw.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve and Bucky shuffled into the dining area, blinking at the afternoon sunshine. Both of them had rumpled hair, fuzzy pajama pants, and flannel shirts over sleeveless t-shirts. Steve’s flannel was red, and clashed with his brown plaid pants. Bucky’s was blue-gray plaid, which he somehow made look cool, in spite of how poorly it fit over the Iron Man armor. Neither of them wore shoes.

Maria Hill was dressed in a civilian suit, but she came to attention when Steve and Bucky entered the room.

Steve smiled and altered his course to meet her. Bucky did the same, but without the smiling.

Maria nodded to each of them. “Captain. Sergeant.”

Bucky took a long, bleary moment to realize she meant him.

Steve shook his head at her. “I’m not exactly in uniform. Call me Steve. And no standing at attention until after I’ve had breakfast.”

“It’s a hard habit to break. And it’s after lunch,” she said, shifting to stand at ease. “What should I call you, Sergeant?”

Bucky frowned. “Just Barnes.”

“All right. I’m here to brief you on the procedure you requested, and escort you in to get started on it.”

Bucky tilted his head at her. “Did I try to kill you?”

“No, not that I know of. Do we have a problem?”

“You seemed familiar, and that’s usually what that means." Bucky shrugged.

Steve said, “Oh,” and pointed at Maria. “You were on the headset, when -- on the Helicarrier.”

Maria and Bucky both said, “Oh.”

“It’s kind of a gray area, then,” said Maria. “But I’m willing to call it a ‘no’ if you are, Barnes.”

Bucky nodded.

“If you’ll have a seat, I can get started." She gestured to a table.

“Can’t we eat first?” asked Steve.

“Uh, you can, but he really shouldn’t.”

“Darn,” said Steve. He stuck out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout that make Bucky crinkle up his nose and smile.

Maria sat at the table, and Bucky and Steve followed suit.

“As you probably know, general anesthesia isn’t really an option." Maria said. “With your metabolism, anyone who would be willing to try to put you under is already too reckless to be trusted.”

Steve’s eyes went wide.

“Our solution is two-fold. We’ll use local anesthetic on demand for pain, and we’ll run a mild electric current through the table to keep you immobilized.”

“So, if I move, I get --”

“No! Absolutely not,” Maria said, horrified. “The current disrupts the signals to your muscles, so that you can’t use them.”

“Restraints,” Bucky said.

“I’m afraid so. No straps, no clamps,” the word made Bucky twitch, “but you’ll be unable to move from the elbows up.”

Steve put his hand on the table, where Bucky could see it.

Bucky grasped his wrist instead, squeezing it tighter than most people could bear.

“After that, the actual procedure will be done with this." Maria pulled from her pocket a device that resembled a cell phone, except the attached charger cord was thicker than usual and didn’t have a plug at the end. The entire assembly was in a vacuum sealed bag. “This tube will be inserted through your sinuses, then up to where the shrapnel is.”

“Wait, so they’re not . . . They don’t have to . . ." Steve blew out a breath. “That’s so much better than I thought.”

“Oh?” said Maria.

“Have you ever heard of the movie Frankenstein?” Steve asked.

Maria’s eyes went wide. “Oh God, nothing like that. See, this is why we have briefings. Our goal here is to do as little damage and cause as little pain as we possibly can. There’s a laser in the tube, which will cut the shrapnel into bits small enough to fit back through the tube and into the box. And it’s remotely operated, so there won’t be an extra person in the room, even.”

Bucky eased his grip on Steve’s arm. “That’s good.”

“The rest of the procedure will happen at the same time, but it deals with your arm, and Tony is in charge of that. He’s waiting for us in the Training Room.”

Bucky bit his lip and stood up. “Let’s go, then.”

 

Obnoxious 90’s music blared from the Training Room speakers. Tony was spinning on a wheeled stool beside a table, which was covered with a pink polka-dot sheet.

He lurched to a stop as Steve, Bucky, and Maria entered. “Hey there, sleepy-heads. You finally ready?”

Bucky made a gesture that was half shrug, half nod.

“Great! Have a seat." Tony patted the table. He waved his hand and the music stopped. 

Bucky shuffled over and heaved himself onto the table with his working arm. Steve stood nearby.

“Did Hill tell you about the electric charge in the table, how it’ll keep you still?” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, looking down at the polka-dots.

“Did she tell you that I invented that trick to rescue a bunch of people who got sucked out of Air Force One?”

“Bragging for you is not part of my job description,” said Maria.

“Call legal for me, have them add it to your contract,” said Tony. Maria shook her head. “Barnes,” Tony said, turning back to him. “I’m going to run through the plan with you, and I can be quick, or I can be gentle, but I can’t do both. Which do you want?”

“Quick,” said Bucky.

“Cool. I’ll go in with this,” he wiggled a tube like the one Maria had shown them, “drill out the screws, cut off the internal bands, and pull off the arm.”

Steve frowned. “You?”

“Do you know someone more qualified to dismantle a mechanical arm?”

“I just thought, a surgeon . . .”

Tony managed not to roll his eyes. “Steve, I’ve done more dangerous surgery than this on myself. Seriously. Besides, bringing in more people would be, you know, less than ideal.”  


“What about that thing Maria showed us? Were you planning on running that, too?” Steve asked, making it clear that was not an option.

“No, I’m not qualified to do brain surgery --”

“Could you please stop saying it,” Bucky said through clenched teeth.

“Shit, sorry." Tony turned to him. “Anyway, you’re in good hands, I promise.”

Steve sighed. “Who’s operating the device, Tony?”

“Someone very qualified and very well protected,” Tony answered.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

Tony sighed. “It’s Jarvis.”

“What.”

“I swear, it’s fine. His motor skills are better than any surgeon’s, and he’s --”

“Please,” Bucky said quietly.

Tony stopped talking.

Steve blinked at this minor miracle and turned to Bucky. “What do you need?”

“Less metal in my head?”

Steve’s crossed arms suddenly didn’t look stern or commanding. Instead, he seemed as if he was hugging himself. “If . . ." He shook his head. “I know you’re sure. Okay.”

“One other thing,” said Tony. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a purple disk that looked something like a pocket watch, with a big pink button on the face. He held it out to Bucky. “This is the off switch. If you get overwhelmed, if something goes wrong, you push this. Two seconds later, all the equipment will shut down and you’ll be able to move again. I mean, it would be better if you didn’t move. Obviously. But I figured it was more important that you have some control." 

Bucky took the switch and turned it over in his hand. “Thank you.”

“Now, everybody get out. Go, do your jobs. I’ve got a date tonight, and I plan to actually be on time for it,” Tony said.

Maria touched Steve’s elbow. “We’ll be over here in the Observation Room, Cap.”

Steve nodded at her, but stepped closer to Bucky. “I guess I have to go.”

Bucky looked down and nodded, making his hair fall around his face.

“I’ll be close. I’ll make sure you’re safe. And you won’t need it, because I trust Tony, but I’ll protect you.”

Bucky nodded again, without looking up.

“Aww, I trust you too, O Captain, My Captain,” said Tony, fluttering his eyelashes. “Observation Room’s that way.”

Steve didn’t so much as glance at Tony. “I’ll see you soon, Bucky,” he said, and followed Maria out of the room.

 

There were two tables in the Observation Room. One had an intimidating array of monitors and control panels. The other had a small stack of books and magazines, and a wireless headset.

Steve didn’t need to be told which one was for him.

Maria pointed out one of her displays. “I’ll be monitoring his pain levels here, and administering anesthesia when they get too high.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve asked.

 

“I’m ready to go,” Tony said. “Do you want to test the button a few more times, or should we get started?”

“Get started,” Bucky said.

“All right,” Tony said. Then, moving slowly and keeping his hands in sight, he settled a pair of headphones over Bucky’s ears. 

Bucky gave him a puzzled look.

“Close your eyes,” Tony said. “I’m turning on the table.”

Bucky did, and there was a faint hum as the table activated. 

“Can you hear me, Bucky?” said Steve’s voice in the headphones.

Bucky wiggled the three fingers that weren’t holding the switch, to show that he could.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_In total darkness, there was the sound of Steve’s voice._

I should have told you this before, but it never seemed like the right time. 

I don’t know if what they’re doing will let you get any of your old memories back, but I wanted you to know that . . . 

I like you. 

I like the person you are right now. 

I like that you smile at my dumb jokes about Cheese-toes, and that you juggle knives with me even though it’s a bad idea, and that you look like you’re seeing heaven whenever you eat ice cream.

You’re my friend. You’re my Sergeant Cool Ranch. No matter what else you remember, or what else you don’t, I still want to keep making new memories together. For as long as you can stand me. 

Probably longer.

We could take my motorcycle and go see every art museum we can find. Maybe go backpacking on the Appalachian Trail. Or, did you know that Hawaii is a state, now? We could go visit. Sit in the sun and watch the ocean all day. 

We can do anything you want. I just --

Anyway, I thought you should know.

 

You had asked before why I knew about combing long hair, and I didn’t answer, because it’s a really embarrassing story. I guess now is a good time to tell it, though, since you can’t make fun of me.

The Smithsonian didn’t say much about the Spangle Circuit, and I guess I didn’t either.

I had made it all the way through basic training, with my asthma and everything else. And then the serum, which was worse than any of the beatings I’d ever taken, all so I could go do my part. Be a soldier. Defend the innocent.

Instead, I ended up with dancing girls and fireworks and very tight pants.

One of our first nights out, Isaac took me aside on the train to talk to me. Isaac had been a Marine before he got a blue ticket back home and somehow ended up as the director of our show. He said 'Steven, I won't allow any hanky-panky on this tour. I don't care what the girls get up to with each other, but you're the only pretty boy we've got. They start messing around with you, unit cohesion will go right out the window.'

I said that wouldn't be a problem, and I told him about Peggy. How she was smart and strong and sometimes she looked at me the way that people always looked at my friend Bucky.

Um, after that, he told me that he expected me to pull my weight backstage. He said that the dancers all had to do hair and makeup to go on stage, and I wasn’t getting out of it, either.

So, I learned how to do hair and --

See, the thing was, because of the war, there wasn’t any nylon back home. Which meant there weren’t any stockings. But back then, ladies didn’t go out with bare legs.

And that’s how I ended up spending most of my nights with Isaac, painting fake stockings on twenty barely dressed dancing girls, instead of being where I should have been. 

 

Uh, let’s see. I never got to tell you about how the Avengers were formed. Nick Fury showed up at my gym one night. I liked to go there when nobody else was around. But he told me he was trying to save the world . . .

 

_Throughout the time Steve talked, underneath his voice was the faint scratching sound of a pencil on paper._


	13. Chapter 13

“All right man,” said a voice that wasn’t Steve’s. “Push your button. You’re all done.”

Bucky clicked the off switch that Tony had given him forever ago. He blinked at the intensity of the work lights beside him and struggled to sit up.

“Remember anything new, yet?” Tony asked.

Bucky rubbed his face. “No, I already knew what it felt like to get my head punched.”

Tony chuckled. “It’ll take some time for your brain to heal. You might not get anything new until tomorrow, or the next day. But nobody ever said patience was one of my virtues. Speaking of which, try out the new arm before you make me cry." 

Bucky held it out in front of himself. “It’s blue?”

“I figured switching up the color might make you more comfortable,” Tony said as Bucky wiggled the fingers and turned his hand back and forth. “Besides, you look good in blue. Right, Steve?”

And suddenly, Steve was there, tall and broad and still wearing his headset.

Bucky reached up to his own ears and pulled off the headphones he’d been wearing, which prompted Steve to do the same.

“How do you feel?” Steve asked, hopping up onto the table beside him.

“Sore,” Bucky said.

“Okay, about the arm,” said Tony. “This one is pretty much a prototype, so don’t go picking up any cars with it yet. After you’re healed up we can reassess, redesign, get you set up with Mark 2. This one is waterproof, bullet proof, heat-resistant, probably as strong as the last one. Got a standard sensor suite, all the usual, none of the frills. You might appreciate this feature, though. Press here and here." He indicated two plates near Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky pressed them. There was a click and a faint whir, and the arm dropped off into his lap.

Bucky stared, horrified and fascinated, at the bleached scabrous flesh that was revealed. “Subject failure,” Bucky said, well on his way to hyperventilating. “They’ll kill -- Ugh, shit.”

Tony reached under the table and pulled out a bucket. He held it out to Bucky. “You can puke in this, if you’re gonna. Just breathe, man. Steve, talk to him.”

“Bucky, you’re safe. Nobody can kill you, we’re all --”

Bucky grabbed the arm and shoved it back into place. “No. I’m not the kind of toy they break. I’m the kind they punish. It’s everybody else who dies, and I --”

“It’s not like that anymore,” said Steve. “None of us will die.”

“Besides,” said Tony, “they wanted us dead already. There was a list. All of our names were on it. We’re not in any more danger than we already were.”

“But you are, because of me. What if I --”

“That won’t happen,” said Steve.

“Then we’ll stop you,” said Tony.

Steve and Bucky both looked at Tony, but with very different expressions.

“I promise you Barnes, if it comes to it, we will do whatever it takes. I’ll discuss details if you want, but not with Steve in the room.”

Bucky glanced at Steve, who looked ready to tear the world apart for him, starting with Tony if need be. “You have a plan, though?” he asked Tony.

“We do." Tony turned to Steve. “There’s a plan for Bruce, too. He insisted on it. Barton says he’ll count on Romanov, and vice versa. Jarvis could take me down in about a minute, if you or Pepper tell him he needs to.”

“Mutually assured destruction is not a great team building tool,” said Steve.

“We don’t all trust ourselves the way you do, Cap. I get where you’re coming from, though, because if Pepper somehow goes off the rails, my plan is that you’re all screwed, logic be damned." Tony shrugged sort of helplessly and met Steve’s eyes with an earnestness that surprised them both.

Steve glanced at Bucky with that same sort of helplessness, then met Tony’s eyes again.

A slow grin spread over Tony’s face.

Super-soldier serum never could prevent blushing. Steve didn’t look away, though.

“Aaaanyway,” said Tony, “we can talk about all of this later. You guys should go eat dinner." 

“Breakfast,” said Steve.

“Jesus Christ, no wonder you’re grumpy.”

“I am not --”

“Jarvis, send out their ride.”

A wall panel opened, and a sleek vehicle rolled out. It could be called a golf cart, except those aren’t usually low slung, with ribbons of blue light accenting sensuous curves.

Tony flung himself into the driver’s seat, looked at Steve and Bucky over his glasses and said, “Get in losers, we’re going shopping.”

Steve and Bucky gave matching expressions of pure confusion.

Tony rolled his eyes. “That does it. I’m making an official movie night. Every week. One old person who doesn’t get my jokes was already one too many. Come on, we’ll pick up some food on the way to your apartment.”

 

In a cool, modern living room, Pepper sat on the edge of a white leather couch, closing her eyes as Tony tried to braid her hair.

“Then after I dropped them off, he asked if he could hug me,” said Tony.

“Steve?” said Pepper, surprised. “What did you say?”

“I said yes, obviously. But the point is, he’s so head-over-heels for Barnes, he forgot he doesn’t like me.”

“No, he likes you. But he also thinks you’re obnoxious.”

“Well, I’ve worked hard to become so.”

Pepper laughed.

Tony sighed. ”I could not be worse at braiding if I tried.”

“All it takes is practice,” Pepper said, reaching back and pulling apart his attempt. 

“Practice sucks. I want to skip to the part where I’m good at it." He lazily rubbed her shoulders.

“Wow, that is a great plan,” said Pepper. “I wonder why nobody ever thought of that before.”

“Well, that’s why they call me --” He broke off when his phone started beeping out the National Anthem.

Pepper said, “Go ahead and play the message, Jarvis.”

“Hey now,” said Tony.

“Steve wouldn’t leave a voicemail unless it was important.”

“Oh, all right.”

Steve’s voice said quietly, “Hey Jarvis, is there a way you could send Tony a message for me?”

Tony covered his face with his hand.

“Of course, Captain,” said Jarvis, matching Steve’s volume level. In the background was the sound of someone gently snoring.

“Could you tell him that . . . What we talked about earlier. Bucky isn’t -- He doesn’t feel the same way. About me. And that’s not a problem or anything. I just didn’t want there to be any confusion. Oh, and thanks again, for everything. Thank you, too, Jarvis. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“That’s perfectly understandable, sir, and you are welcome. Is your message complete?”

“Yeah, I can talk to him more later.”

There was a click as the message ended. After a moment of stunned silence, Tony said, “Doesn’t feel the same way?! He broke through seventy years of brainwashing for you, Steve, what the hell more could he do? I have to fix it, Pepper.”

“Tony, no,” Pepper said, pushing him into the couch.

“He said it’s not a problem. He probably even believes it. They need me.”

“They need for you to stay out of it.”

“But --”

“What’s your plan, then?” asked Pepper, still holding him down. He seemed like he might be enjoying it.

“Tell Barnes, ‘Steve is desperately in love with you’?”

Pepper fixed him with an overly patient glare.

“Okay, that might be a little intense, what with the brain surgery, and the not being able to touch people thing.”

“We don’t even know what kind of people Barnes is interested in, or if he’s interested at all.”

Tony laughed. “Except we know that getting hugged by Steve is at the top of his priority list.”

“There you go, then. They can work it out themselves." She ran her hands up his chest and into his hair. “So, who’s on top? On your priority list?”

Tony grinned as he leaned in to kiss her.


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky sprawled sideways across the bed, seemingly asleep, while Steve sat reading a book on the small strip of bed that remained.

Without opening his eyes, Bucky said, “Did you . . .”

Steve turned to him, closing his book. “Did I what?”

“You used to sound different. Your breathing. I would listen to it at night, and sometimes I was scared that it was going to stop.”

“It might have, without you. You used to come stay with me when I was sick, even when Ma was still alive. Saved me more than once." Steve ruffled the pages on his book and set it on the nightstand. “Do you remember anything else?”

Bucky rolled onto his back and stared miserably at the ceiling. “Not about you.”

“Oh. Is it -- Is there any way I can help?”

“You know earlier, when you talked to me on the headphones?”

“I meant everything I said, Buck. Nothing you remember will change how I feel about you. I’ll like you forever.”

Bucky tilted his head back and smiled crookedly at him, upside-down. “Um, thanks. I like you, too. But I was going to ask if I could see what you were drawing?”

“Oh." Steve reached into his pocket for his sketchbook, blushing. “Well, now you know why it wouldn’t bother me if you said something awkward. Because you’ll never be as awkward as I am.”

“You’re just very direct,” Bucky said. Then he started to snicker.

Steve smiled, blushing harder. “Yes, I went directly to awkward.”

Bucky laughed, actually laughed, and Steve was powerless to do anything but laugh with him. 

“Oh God, we used to do this all the time, didn’t we?” said Bucky.

“Yeah, we did. It’s what I missed the most.”

Bucky looked upside-down at him again, still smiling. He caught Steve’s hand and pulled it over onto his chest. He tugged the sketchbook away and put his hand palm to palm against Steve’s. “You really were smaller.”

“That was definitely in the Smithsonian.”

“I know that,” Bucky chuckled. “It’s different, though." He laced their fingers together, then unlaced them again and picked up the sketchbook, instead.

Steve slid his hand away, resting it a few inches from Bucky’s shoulder.

The first page of the sketchbook showed a detailed drawing of several flower arrangements clustered on a small table, with a balloon floating overhead that read ‘Get Well’.

Next was a scruffy dog beside a park bench.

A collection of bottles, heavily shaded.

Two cats under a shield.

The same cats, knocking over a cookie jar.

A small stuffed rabbit, with dark stains in the shape of a handprint.

A stack of books and magazines on an otherwise empty table.

A matching table, with a frightening array of displays, dials, buttons, and devices.

“No more cats?” Bucky said with a pouty frown.

“They’re a team. I didn’t want to draw them without you.”

Bucky flipped back to the picture with the shield. He lightly ran his thumb over the dark cat’s metal leg. “Could you draw him without it?” he asked quietly.

“If you want.”

Bucky hesitated, then put the book in Steve’s hand. “I have to get used to it, and I don’t know how else to start.”

“Okay." Steve pulled a pencil from his pocket and propped his sketchbook on his knee.

Bucky eased himself unsteadily up to a sitting position.

“You okay?” Steve asked.

“Getting holes drilled in my brain wasn’t as much fun as I had hoped,” Bucky said, slumping against the wall.

Steve chuckled and went back to drawing.

Bucky started to rest his head on Steve’s shoulder, then stopped. “Can I -- Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said lightly, closing his eyes as Bucky settled into place.

The drawing started with the two cats, more or less facing each other, leaning in toward something in between them. The light cat was smiling, and the dark one had his eyes closed. Then Steve added a big bowl, and scoops of ice cream, and the dark cat’s short leg resting on the edge, and a big, curved smile on the dark cat’s face.

“Like he’s seeing heaven?” Bucky smirked.

“Not exactly,” Steve said dryly. “He’s only a kitten. That would be inappropriate.”

Bucky chuckled, deep and throaty, making Steve grin. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I know you used to draw before,” said Bucky, “but did you draw things like this, or was it mostly tables?”

“Tables?” Steve asked, turning to him and getting a face full of hair.

“A lot of those are tables,” Bucky said, pointing at the sketchbook.

Steve paged back through them. “Huh. It wasn’t deliberate or anything. It just sort of --”

Bucky jerked upright and shoved Steve off the bed. They landed on the floor together, a split-second before . . .

\-- FWOOM --

The deep, heavy sound of an explosion reached them.

Jarvis said, “Multiple drone strikes to the East Laboratory.”

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky asked, getting to his knees.

“No, I’m fine,” Steve said, leaping to his feet. “Where the hell are my shoes?”

“Other bedroom.”

Steve sprinted off, and Bucky shambled after him. He was tying his laces when Bucky caught up with him. “I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Steve said.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, me too,” he said, strapping on his boots.

“Bucky, you can barely walk,” Steve said gently.

“Then I’ll crawl,” said Bucky with a glare.

Steve hesitated.

“We’re a team, right?” Bucky asked.

“Of course we are,” Steve answered, surrendering. “Hey Jarvis, can we get a ride?”

“On its way, Captain.”

“C’mon,” Steve said, offering Bucky a hand up. 

Bucky took it, but let go as soon as he got to his feet.

“Can I help?” Steve asked. “I could put my arm around you, and you could --”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and slung his arm over Steve’s shoulders. “Just like old times,” he said as they hurried to the living room.

“Except now you weigh a lot more,” said Steve.

“I’ve been working out,” said Bucky. “You should try it.”

Steve laughed. “Gimme my shield.”

Bucky reached up and pulled it off the wall. He slid it into place on Steve’s arm as they crossed to the front door.

The mini sports car was waiting for them in the hall. As soon as they were seated, Steve tapped the dash twice and the car began to drive itself.

“Weapons?” Bucky asked.

A compartment in front of their feet dropped open to show a rack of handguns, extra clips of ammunition, a quiver of arrows, and several knives.

“Oh, thank God,” Bucky said, selecting a gun.

“Actually, Sergeant, Agent Romanov stocked the weapons compartment,” replied Jarvis.

Steve rolled his eyes.

They careened through an opening door and into a stairwell. 

“Remain seated, please,” said Jarvis.

A blast of blue light sent the car rocketing upward. Three stories later, the car landed again and sped down the hall.

The tires squealed as they whipped through a ninety degree turn at top speed, missing the wall by the tiniest of margins.

Clint was firing arrows from the relative shelter of a doorway into a room at the end of the hallway. He was wearing a dark gray bathrobe with the sleeves torn off, and black combat boots.

Steve snagged the quiver from the weapons compartment and jumped out before the car really slowed.

“Excellent,” said Clint, looking at Steve and firing into the lab. “Glad you’re with us, Barnes,” he said over Steve’s shoulder.

“Same,” said Bucky, standing up straight and doing a passable imitation of someone who hadn’t recently had brain surgery.

Steve tossed the quiver to Clint, then formed up on Bucky’s right. They entered the room together, behind Steve’s shield.

 

The floor of the laboratory was littered with tools, broken glass, and feathers. Iron Man was almost lazily firing repulsor blasts at the dozens of small drones flying in random circles in the lab, each of them about the size of a soda can.

Steve flung his shield in an arc that made it ricochet against three of the drones, coming perilously close to sailing out the window before hitting a fourth drone that was on the way in.

Bucky shot three drones out of the air, and brought up his new arm to block a stream of bullets as his presence was noticed.

All the remaining drones suddenly wheeled around to circle Bucky.

There was a crackling hum that made him freeze, eyes losing focus, shoulders slumping forward. At his feet, a stray screwdriver began to spin in place, moving in time with the increasing speed of the drones overhead.

Steve shield smashed one of them with a resounding crunch.

At the sound, Bucky snapped back to himself. He began firing at the drones again. The predictable pattern they had established around Bucky made them into easy targets, and a hail of bullets, arrows, repulsor blasts, and one shield quickly reduced them all to rubble.

“Groundside secure,” said Natasha’s voice through Jarvis’s speakers.

“Copy that. Laboratory secure,” Clint replied.

“Meet you there,” said Natasha.

Bucky sank to his knees.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asked, crouching in front of him.

“No injuries,” Bucky muttered.

“Bucket to your left, if you need it,” said Clint.

“Why do people always expect me to throw up?” Bucky asked, looking at the feather-strewn floor.

“Because what they did to you makes us want to, and we didn’t have to live through it,” Clint answered.

Steve and Bucky looked up at him, and he shrugged and looked away. “There’s Nat and Sam,” he said, looking out the window.

A second later, Falcon swooped into view, with Widow dangling from his harness. She tucked her legs in tight as they flew through the window, landing lightly beside Clint.

Sam closed his beautiful new red and white wings and crossed to Steve and Bucky. “Need a medic?” he asked.

“No injuries,” Bucky said again.

“There’s a bucket over there, if --”

Bucky chuckled tiredly.

“Ooo, laughing,” said Tony. “That’s new.”

“What happened up here?” Natasha asked.

“Hey Barnes, can you get up out of the broken glass now?” Tony asked. “Things are messy enough without adding blood stains. C’mon." He offered Bucky a hand up.

Bucky waved Tony’s hand away. “Sorry,” he muttered, getting to his feet on his own.

“Not a problem. Saying ‘no’ is a good sign,” said Tony.

“Why?” Bucky asked, leaning back against a cabinet.

“Because, if you can’t say ‘no’, then you can’t really say ‘yes’,” said Natasha.

Bucky looked a little stunned at this information.

Steve, who had come to stand beside him, leaned in and asked, “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky said, shaking his head.

“So what happened up here,” Natasha repeated.

“My fault,” said Tony. “I was checking out the arm. Set off a homing beacon. They sent the drones in with a bunch of pigeons as cover, because that’s the kind of assholes they are.”

“Ugh, that explains the feathers,” said Sam, checking the bottoms of his shoes and cringing.

“Yep. Then the drones caught sight of Barnes, and . . ." Tony made a circling motion with his finger over his head.

“Pierce called it wiping,” said Bucky. “He’d say ‘Wipe him,’ and that sound would be the last thing I’d hear while they scrambled my brain.”

Natasha picked up the bucket and set it at Bucky’s feet.

Steve’s shoulders shook, and Bucky turned to see him trying to repress a bout of horrified laughter.

That was enough to set off Bucky, and the two of them broke into choked giggles together.  
“Sorry,” Steve said to the room when he was able.

“Sorry,” Bucky added, still twitching with silent laughter.

“That’s about it,” said Tony. “Jarvis will be checking out all the birds from now on. We’ll get the window replaced in a few hours. Barnes’ brains are mostly unscrambled.”

Bucky and Steve cracked up, and Tony grinned.

“Going to bed, then,” said Clint, and he ambled out the door.

Sam turned to Tony. “You know, nobody told me that the whole superhero thing would mean I’d have to start wearing pajamas all the time.”

Tony laughed. “You could keep a robe around, like Barton.”

“What do you figure he’s wearing under that?”

“Uhh, boots,” said Tony.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work out with a flight suit.”

“I’m not building you automatic pants, Wilson. You want those, you’ll have to design them yourself.”

Natasha turned and said, “Steve, meet me for lunch tomorrow?”

Steve looked questioningly at Bucky.

“She meant alone,” Bucky said with a smile. “Probably so you can talk about me. You should go.”

“That’s exactly what she meant,” Natasha smirked, “and you should go.”

“Terrific. The two of you ganging up on me. That’s exactly what I need,” said Steve. “Thanks for the invitation, Natasha. Lunch sounds great.”


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky watched as Steve sketched. Both of them had clean-damp hair, and Bucky’s was pulled back and held in place with a pencil. They were sitting on the couch in their living room, both wearing blue jeans and ‘Stark Industries’ t-shirts.

The two kittens in the sketchbook were crouched side-by-side, looking adorably vicious. Steve was putting the final touches on a googly-eyed octopus that was running away, clearly outmatched by the cats.

“The octopus could probably be uglier,” said Bucky.

“How?” Steve asked, flipping his pencil over to erase.

“No, you should leave it. Ugly is just not something you’re good at. Do you have time to draw another?”

Steve checked his watch. “I think so. Did you have something in mind?” he asked, turning to a fresh page.

Bucky looked around, pondering, then he sighed. “They really should open their presents.”

Steve shrugged. “They were busy.”

He started drawing. The two cats were sitting, holding forks and wearing napkins. Then he drew a third cat, standing between them, holding up something. The third cat got a big, open grin, then stripes that eventually formed a familiar mustache and goatee. The something he was holding turned into a plate with a big, fancy cake.

“Does that mean we’re on Tony’s team?” Bucky asked.

“Well, we are wearing his t-shirts,” said Steve.

Bucky smiled. “You know he’d laugh his ass off if you showed him this.”

Steve frowned a little, sketching in a big chef’s hat on the striped cat. “I hadn’t considered it.”

“He would, though. It’s very cute. And I’m sure he likes pictures of himself.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks. I’ll think about it." He checked his watch and sighed. “It’s time for me to go.”

“Could you leave your sketchbook?” Bucky said nervously.

“Sure,” Steve said, handing it to him.

“I won’t show anybody.”

“I trust you,” Steve said easily.

“I bet that’s one of the things Natasha wants to talk to you about.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Even she can’t talk me out of that.”

“Okay. I trust you, too. I wanted it so I could practice taking off my arm. It might help,” Bucky said, picking imaginary lint off the couch.

“Do you want me to stay?” Steve asked.

“I really don’t. I know you’d be safe, but . . . Maybe next time.”

“All right." Steve stood up and turned to Bucky. He hesitated, then put his hand out.

Bucky shook it, with a little frown at the inadequacy of the gesture.

 

Tony reached out from under a bright orange ‘76 Corvette and grabbed a wrench.

From a speaker, Sam’s voice was saying “. . . if she didn’t have to hold on --”

“Then she could be up there firing away,” finished Tony. “On the other hand, if something goes wrong, you end up with a super-spy permanently stapled to your chest.”

Sam laughed. “I’m willing to risk it if she is.”

“You’ve got no chance there, Birdman. Not with Barton in the mix. Besides, I thought you were with Hill.”

“Well, as far as I know, none of us are married or anything. And you weren’t supposed to know about Maria.”

“Ha, this tower is literally full of spies. Privacy is --” Tony broke off when a light began flashing. “Looks like I’ve got company, Wilson. Talk to you later.”

There was a click as the connection ended, and Tony wheeled himself out and wiped his hands. He watched as Bucky approached a pair of glass doors, which opened to let him in.

“Hey there, Barnes,” Tony said, sticking his hand out. “Where’s your sidekick?”

Bucky reached out in much the same way he might if he were petting a rattlesnake, slowly getting close, shaking Tony’s hand once, then quickly pulling back.

Tony smiled. “By sidekick, I meant Steve.”

“Oh, yeah, he’s having lunch with Romanov.”

“Ah. Are you here about that plan I mentioned? Because I’m pretty sure I could slap a suit on you and lock you down that way. We can test it, if you want --”

“No. Thanks." Bucky bit his lip. “I remembered something.”

Tony’s eyebrows came together. “What kind of something?”

“I told you earlier about subversive design flaws?” Bucky said.

Tony relaxed fractionally. “Yeah, took out your fifth arm, right?”

“Right." Bucky swallowed. “It was your father.”

“Oh?” Tony said, in a much less friendly voice. 

“They brought him in to make a new arm for me. I guess they thought he wouldn’t recognize me. Or, I don’t know, maybe they wanted him to. But he did. And the arm he made for me . . . It had explosives in it. He told me how to set them off, so that . . . He wanted to help me, and it was the only way he could. He said . . ." Bucky looked away, wiping his nose. “He said they were using me to shit on Steve’s memory, and that I could stop it, if I wanted to. And I tried, but . . . I didn’t die fast enough. They put me back together.”

“Did you . . ." Tony scrubbed his face with his hands. “Were you there? When my parents died?”

Bucky looked back at him, tear-streaked and horrified. “You said it wasn’t me.”

Tony took a deep breath. “We didn’t find proof one way or the other, so I decided to assume it wasn’t, unless we got some more information. But if you remembered --”

“I don’t want to remember that! I liked him. He tried to help me. If it was me . . . Jesus, Tony, I don’t ever want to know. I don’t want it to be me." Bucky stumbled over to a nearby bucket.

Tony braced himself against a cabinet. “Jarvis, call somebody.”

 

When Bruce entered the garage, he found Tony sitting on a stool with a bottle in his hand, and Bucky sitting on the hood of the Corvette with his knees tucked under his chin, glaring at the world in general.

“Someone want to tell me what happened?” Bruce asked.

Bucky ignored him.

Tony said, “Nope.”

Bruce sighed. “Jarvis?”

Tony made a go-ahead motion with the hand that wasn’t busy bringing up the bottle for another drink.

“Sergeant Barnes recalled that Mister Stark’s father, Howard, created a mechanical arm for him, which was designed to allow him to attempt suicide. This increases the possibility that Sergeant Barnes was the HYDRA operative who killed Mister Stark’s parents. Mister Stark had previously withheld this possibility from Sergeant Barnes.”

“Lied, Jarvis,” said Bucky. “Mister Stark lied. And stop calling me Sergeant.”

“HYDRA killed your parents?” Bruce asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I try not to upset you, Bruce.”

“Yeah, finding out this way is much less upsetting. Thanks a bunch,” Bruce said. “And I don’t for a minute believe this was about me. Why’d you lie to him?”

“It wasn’t a lie. Look, Barnes, I don’t even think you did it. Car crashes aren’t the Winter Soldier’s style. I just . . . They were my parents. I want to be told they didn’t suffer." Tony picked at the label on his scotch.

“I don’t know if I even had a style. I killed a lot of people, in a lot of ways, and some of them . . ." Bucky hid his face in his knees. “I hope it was fast. I really did like him.”

“What my dad said to you wasn’t fair. If anything, HYDRA was so scared of Steve, they kept trying to hurt him even when they thought he was dead. But the joke’s on them, because I’ve never seen anything make him as happy as having you by his side.”

Bucky wiped his nose. “Is that why you did all this?”

“All what?” Tony asked.

“Let me live in your tower. Made me a new arm. Reupholstered half your furniture.”

“I told you he’d notice the furniture,” said Bruce.

“Why pink?” Bucky said..

Tony shrugged. “It was the one color I knew HYDRA would never have used.”

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I mean. You even figured out how to do brain surgery on me, so I could remember again. Why would you do that for someone who might have killed your parents? Are you and Steve that close?”

Tony chuckled. “You’ve been in the room for like, half the conversations I’ve ever had with Steve. We save the world together, but we don’t really chat much.”

Bucky waited.

“I have a very good friend who has torn down entire city blocks because he was made into a monster,” said Tony.

Bruce turned away.

“And his kill count is nowhere near as high as mine. I actively avoid doing the math on how many lives have been destroyed by weapons with my name on them.”

“They would have just used other weapons,” Bucky said without conviction. “Made other monsters.”

“Yep. And HYDRA would have just used another assassin.”

Bucky nodded. “But they didn’t.”

“No. They didn’t." Tony set the bottle on the counter. “Anyway, making your arm was playtime. Give me an excuse, I’ll make another.”

“Um, the blue is distracting. I see it on my periphery and it throws me off.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. Give me a challenge. C’mon.”

“I don’t know. Feeling with it might be nice, right up until I need to deflect a bullet or punch a car.”

Tony faked a wince. “Don’t talk about punching cars while you’re sitting on my Stingray. What do you think, Bruce? Full sensory feedback with limited pain reception. Doable?”

“Without surgery to integrate the nervous system?” Bruce replied.

“No surgery. Jesus,” said Bucky.

“Here,” said Tony. “Give me the arm and pick a color." He made grabby hands at Bucky.

Bucky leaned away from him.

“C’mon, gimme, gimme, gimme.”

The doors opened and Steve marched through them. “What the hell are you doing, Tony?”

“Steve,” said Bucky, scooting to the nearest edge of the car hood. “Tony’s giving me a new paint job.”

“Oh, great. And then fondue?” Steve asked.

Bucky and Tony looked confused.

“Did you want fondue?” Bruce asked.

“Never mind." Steve inched closer to Bucky. “You’re okay, though?”

“Talk later,” said Tony. “Arm now." He made grabby hands again, much to Steve’s annoyance.

Bucky pushed the two plates in and his arm detached. He handed it to Tony, who wheeled off with it, still sitting on his stool.

“What did Natasha say about me?” Bucky asked.

Steve came around to stand at his left, protecting his more vulnerable side. “She said I’m making you do all the work in our relationship.”

Bucky frowned.

“Barnes!” yelled Tony. “What color?”

“Silver,” Bucky called back.

“Are you feeling better about taking that off?” Steve asked.

“I guess so. I’m not hyperventilating, at least." Bucky looked over at him. “Being with you isn’t work. Not at all.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks. But she was probably right and I just don’t know what she meant.”

“It sounds like a future people thing,” said Bucky.

“Well, we are sitting here waiting to get your robot arm back. We should probably learn to understand the future people.”

Bucky grinned. “Or we could just start calling them all whippersnappers.”

Steve laughed. “That’s good. I like your plan better,” he said as Tony wheeled back over.

“The Star-Spangled maaan . . . “ Tony sang, “with a plaaaaan”

“Oh geez,” said Steve, closing his eyes.

Bucky looked back and forth between them. “What?”

Tony’s eyes lit up. “You’ve never seen it. Jarvis, Barnes needs to see the video!”

“Ugh, why is there a video?” Steve pouted.

“It turned up after you came back from the dead,” said Tony. “Press ‘play’, Jarvis.”

Grainy black and white footage began to play on a screen in front of Bucky. It showed about a dozen chorus girls dancing circles around a young man in a rather silly Captain America costume, complete with big cuffed boots and extremely tight pants.

Bucky grinned and raised an eyebrow at Steve.

“Yes, that was me,” Steve said, failing to seem nonchalant.

“You’re so cute,” said Bucky.

“Oh, good. Cute was definitely the look we were going for,” Steve said, turning pink.

The sound quality was terrible, but the video was helpfully captioned to tell them all about the Star-Spangled Man and his plan to use bonds to put a bullet in the barrel of your best guy’s gun.

“Look at your shield. It’s so flimsy,” said Bucky.

Steve said, “Mm hm.”

“Wait. Is that?” Bucky turned to him. “Did you come and rescue me from a HYDRA base with nothing but a stage prop and your sidearm?”

“I wore a helmet,” said Steve.

Bucky sputtered into laughter, flopping back onto the car.

Steve stepped away to get a better view.

There aren’t many things that are sexier than a Corvette Stingray, but Bucky Barnes in a tight t-shirt is on the list.

“Holy shit, Rogers, you are terrifying,” Bucky chuckled.

“I would apologize, but I’m not actually sorry,” Steve said, smiling.

“Well, I was awful happy to see you, so I shouldn’t complain. Glad you got a real shield, though,” Bucky said, sitting up again.

“Yeah, Howard made it for me, right after I found you.”

Bucky glanced at Tony, smile faltering.

“Hey Bruce,” Tony called, “Is the finish dry on that arm yet?”

Bruce, who was not actually near the paint booth, rolled his eyes and walked over to check. “Yeah, it’s done,” he called back.

“Well, bring it over,” said Tony, pretending he was being overly patient.

Bruce genuinely was overly patient as he carried Bucky’s now-silver arm to him.

“Thanks,” said Bucky, casually hefting it into place, despite its weight. Once it was on, he looked it over and caught sight of the blue circle with a silver star inside that had taken the place of the red star from his old arm. “Nice,” he said, lifting his sleeve to show Steve.

Steve’s fingers twitched as he leaned in to look.

“You can touch it,” said Bucky.

Neither of them noticed that Tony put a hand over his own mouth, though Bruce rolled his eyes again.

Steve ran his thumb lightly over the star. “You can’t feel it though,” he said.

“Not really. I get data. Your hand is 91.6 degrees, exerting .05 pounds of pressure. It’s not the same.”

“The trick will be translating that into tactile sensation,” said Bruce.

“And isolating the pain reception. I say we let some low level pain through, and only block the really bad stuff,” Tony said to Bruce.

“Why? That’s so much harder,” Bruce said.

Tony shrugged. “A little pain can be nice.”

“I guess if we figure out how to isolate it, then putting a cap on it would be comparatively easy,” Bruce said, drifting over to the nearest console.

Tony followed him. “Bring up the scan from when the first arm broke. Plenty of pain data there.”

Steve looked at Bucky and whispered loudly, “Whippersnappers.”

Bucky laughed.

“Now that you have your arm back, can we talk about whatever you and Tony have been avoiding?” Steve asked.

Bucky’s smile fell away.

“You want Jarvis to do it?” Tony asked, not looking up from his display.

“No. I’ll do it,” Bucky replied.

Steve waited, worried.

Finally Bucky looked up at him and said, “I might have killed Tony’s parents. Because Howard was nice to me once.”

“Oh." Steve hesitated, a little confused. “Can I hug you?”

This was not at all the response Bucky expected, but he nodded. Steve stepped in close, and as he slid his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, Bucky pressed his face into his chest.

“What if I remember it? What if I hurt them? What if --”

“Then it’ll be awful. And we’ll get through it,” Steve said into Bucky’s hair.

Bucky clutched him tight for a long moment. Finally he relaxed his grip a bit and let out a deep breath.

Steve slowly let Bucky go, and took his place to Bucky’s right. “How was Howard nice to you?” he asked, putting his hand on the car, beside Bucky’s.

“He told me he was your friend, and that HYDRA was . . . was using me to shit on your memory. And he hid a bomb inside my arm and told me how to set it off, so that I could . . . stop.”

Steve’s face was grim. “I was hoping for something a lot nicer than that.”

Tony and Bucky started talking at once, saying things about “the only way,” and “nothing else he could do.”

Steve said, “I know, I know." He brushed his hand against Bucky’s, and Bucky twined their fingers together.

“I meant it, Barnes,” said Tony. “The thing about Steve’s memory wasn’t your fault. They were terrified of him. They still are, actually.”

Steve sighed. “I really doubt it had anything to do with me. Bucky, you earned Expert Marksmanship Badges in rifle and bayonet before I even got to Europe. You’re tough and smart and resourceful. If we hadn’t grown up together, you still would have been my first choice to join the Howling Commandos, because you are the best. And as far as my memory goes, I’ll always be proud to have served with you, and I’m unbelievably grateful to have you back again.”

Bucky sat quietly, looking at his knees.

“Christ, Rogers,” said Tony. “Did they give you lessons in motivational speaking, or was that something the serum did for you?”

Bucky chuckled. “No, he was born with that." He looked at Steve. “He makes everything less awful. Always has.”

Steve smiled at him, a little sadly.

Tony said, “I’ll have that added to his business cards. ‘Captain America. Leader of the Avengers. Makes things less awful’.”

“Do I even have business cards?” Steve asked.

“You will,” said Tony. “Jarvis, make business cards. Do some for Barnes, too. Just a big letter B and a silver stripe down the left side. Very mysterious. And Bruce gets green 3x5 cards that say ‘Smash’.”

“Mmm, that’s funny,” said Bruce. “But they should come with a smaller card that says ‘My PhD’s are cooler than Tony’s’.”

Tony laughed. “In your dreams.”


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky pulled a present off the table and set it on Steve’s lap. Steve tore it open and found a box with a bundle of small squares of paper, all with lovely, delicate patterns, and a book called ‘Origami for Beginners’.

“Paper folding?” said Bucky.

Steve opened the book at random. “Look, they made a frog,” he said, showing Bucky.

“Huh. The paper is pretty, I guess.”

“Try to contain your enthusiasm,” said Steve, dryly.

“Not a problem,” said Bucky. “It’s more interesting than the journals, at least.”

Steve sighed. “It was nice of Pepper to get us anything.”

“Very nice,” said Bucky. “But not very exciting.”

Steve handed Bucky a present. “That’s the last one.”

Bucky ripped off the paper and found a box filled with yarn and knitting needles. He frowned at it. “Did I -- I got into a fistfight with Falsworth about knitting?”

Steve nodded. “I don’t think either of you were serious about it, though. You were just bored. That’s how it was over there. Either everything was happening, or nothing was.”

“We were making socks,” Bucky said. “And he didn’t just hold his yarn in the wrong hand, he also started from the toes. Ugh. Why would he do that?”

“That way if you cast on too tight, you won’t cut off all the circulation to your feet,” said Steve.

“Then don’t cast on too tight.”

“I’d rather buy my socks, anyway. It’s one of the nice things about living in the future.”

Bucky sighed.

Steve laughed.

“What?” Bucky demanded.

“I know that sigh,” Steve said. “I usually hear it right before you convince me to do something ridiculous.”

“Like what?” said Bucky.

 

Steve leaned against the climbing wall beside Bucky, bumping their shoulders together and giving them matching smears of blue and green.

Tony pulled off his goggles and tried to wipe some of the paint splatters off of them, but the end of his shirt was just as covered as the rest of him. He sighed and walked to the middle of the ledge they were all standing on. “Next time, we’re doing actual teams, instead of cheating and pairing up when it’s supposed to be everyone for themselves." He glared at Steve and Bucky, who grinned, all covered in paint. “And only one super-soldier per team,” he added.

They stopped grinning.

“Pout all you want,” said Tony. “Either you two get split up, or Wilson and I get our suits." He held out his fist, and Sam gave him a fistbump.

“Fine. As long as I get a shield,” Steve shot back.

“And knives,” said Bucky. “Lots of knives.”

“Arrows,” said Clint, who was less splattered, but had taken several hits.

“Jesus, okay. Make a list, Jarvis. Any other requests?” said Tony.

Natasha, who had no paint on her suit, shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

“You are, which is why you should be on my team,” said Tony.

Bucky said, “There’s too much paint now, we’d never be able to tell who hit who.”

“Easy to fix,” said Clint, and he dove off the ledge.

They watched as he twisted through the air and down into the pool. When he came up for air, Tony yelled down at him, “The Russian judge gave you a 6.4.”

Natasha shot him in the back, leaving a bright blue splat.

Tony staggered dramatically and flung himself off the ledge, tucking in his legs for maximum splash and laughing all the way down.

Bucky turned to smile at Steve, but found him crouched down, untying his shoes. He turned to Sam, instead, who readily grinned back. “Um, if you wanted, I could give you a boost." He demonstrated, lacing his fingers together down low and flinging them upward.

“Oh, hell yeah,” said Sam, surprised.

“You’re sure?” Bucky asked.

Sam laughed. “Hey, the new guys have got to stick together, right?” he said, putting up his fist.

Bucky grinned and bumped it with his own.

Sam went to the back of the ledge and nodded at Bucky. When Bucky nodded in return, Sam ran forward, planting his foot in Bucky’s laced hands. Their combined efforts sent Sam soaring out over the pool, giving him time to do an intricate series of twisting flips before slicing into the water.

Tony’s laughter and applause floated up from below.

“Hey, can I have a turn?” asked Natasha.

“Yeah, sure,” said Bucky happily.

Natasha smiled, bright and clear, then ran to the back of the ledge. Her grace and her size allowed Bucky to toss her much higher than he had Sam.

She stretched her leg far up behind her head and framed her face with her arms in a perfect arabesque at the top of her flight. Then gravity reasserted itself, and she snapped her body arrow straight for maximum speed, slipping into the water with no splash at all.

Sam and Tony both shouted their appreciation, and Natasha came up laughing.

Bucky turned to Steve again, and found he had finished taking off his shoes. And his shirt. And his jeans. 

He had one glorious moment to enjoy the sight of Steve wearing nothing but navy blue boxers, before Steve leapt off the ledge. He pulled his arms in tight and hit the water feet first, while Bucky watched in stunned silence.

“God damn,” Bucky said under his breath. Then movement behind him made him spin around.

“I’m guessing you weren’t talking to me,” said Clint, climbing onto the ledge from the rock wall.

“I didn’t know you were there,” said Bucky.

“Yeah, you seemed pretty distracted." Clint looked down at the pool, which gave Bucky the chance to do the same. Down below, Steve was swimming over to a ladder, glancing up at them. “You’ve got about twenty seconds before he starts tearing his way up the wall to get back to you, so if you want to talk about it, you ought to start now.”

Bucky shook his head.

“Then you should probably get going, if you want to have the best view of him climbing out of the pool,” said Clint.

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he sprinted off the ledge, diving with knife-edged speed.

Clint had been right about the view. There was a heart-stopping moment as Steve pulled himself up the ladder when the boxer shorts dipped perilously low, and the thin fabric was delightfully clingy when it was wet.

But Steve’s shoulders were tense, and his smile was forced.

Bucky swam to the ladder and chased after him, his boots making absurd squelching noises with each step. He caught up to him by the rock wall and asked quietly, “Hey, are you okay?”

Steve turned to him and shrugged. “I don’t really like to watch anyone falling, but . . ." He waved his hand vaguely at Bucky.

“Oh." Bucky looked up at him. “Can I hug you?”

Steve nodded and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist. He leaned down to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder as Bucky held him tight.

“I’m sorry,” said Steve, not letting go. “I didn’t mean to ruin your fun.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” said Bucky, also not letting go. “Do you want to go home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Sam would probably say it’s good to work through it.”

“Baaaarnes!” shouted Tony from above, making them flinch and pull guiltily away from each other. “It’s my tuuuurn, Barnes!”

“You’re sure?” said Bucky.

“Yeah. Making new memories, right?” said Steve, turning to start his way up the wall.

“Right,” said Bucky, climbing beside him. “And we get to start by throwing Tony into the pool. You ought to like that.”

“We?”

“Yeah. You’re not allowed to make me do all the work. Natasha said so.” Bucky grinned over at Steve, who smiled back.

As they neared the top, they heard Clint say, “Did anyone even tell them about the elevator?”

Steve rolled his eyes.

They climbed onto the platform and found that Maria had joined the others.

She looked Steve in the eyes and said, “Captain.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “I’m not in uniform, Hill.”

“I hadn’t noticed, sir,” Maria replied, not looking lower than his chin.

Behind her, with a resigned look on his face, Sam pulled his shirt off. He caught Bucky’s eye and looked imploringly at him.

Bucky silently said, ‘Oh,’ and stripped his own shirt off. Sam was obviously relieved not to be doing this alone, and they both shucked off their boots and pants.

Clint shrugged and started undressing, too.

Natasha looked over from the conversation she’d been having with Tony. She said something that made them both laugh, and they each tugged their shirts off.

Maria turned in a circle, smiling. “See, this is why I always check my text messages,” she said, pulling off her jacket as she wandered toward Natasha.

“Everybody look pretty, I’m sending a video to Bruce,” Tony announced, holding up his phone. He panned around. “Steve, this was your best idea, yet. If we ever run low on money, I’m making an Avengers swimsuit calendar. You get to be July.”

Steve turned to Bucky and said quietly, “Can we throw him now, or do we have to wait until he’s ready?”

Bucky laughed and said loudly, “You finally ready, Tony?”

“Yes!” said Tony, tossing his phone over beside his clothes. He struck a pose to show off how wonderful he knew he looked in dark red boxers. “Oh, and as long as I have everyone’s attention, tonight is movie night, and I expect every one of you to be there. No excuses.”

Bucky took Steve’s hand and led him over to the edge of the platform. Steve followed easily. They faced each other and made a cradle with their arms, with Bucky’s metal arm on top. Crouching, they turned to Tony.

“Holy shit, Steve’s playing, too? You’re a miracle, Barnes,” said Tony.

Steve smiled and risked a quick, appreciative glance at Bucky. “C’mon, Stark. Let’s see how well you fly without the suit.”

Tony chuckled, took a moment to refocus, and dashed across the ledge. He planted his foot perfectly, and Steve and Bucky launched him into the air. They sent him ridiculously high, and he cackled the entire way, even as he plummeted down again.

The splash was tremendous. 

Steve waited until Tony was safely out of the way before turning to the others and asking, “Who’s next?”

“Clint,” said Natasha.

Clint shrugged, looking completely unselfconscious in his tight black briefs. “Sure, I’ll go.”

Steve and Bucky had somehow forgotten to let go of each other since last time, so they crouched and nodded. Clint put a little swagger in his run, as if performing in front of a crowd was second nature. He used the extra momentum from the throw to maximum effect, arching himself up and slapping one of the rafters, making everyone cheer.

“That looked absolutely terrifying,” Maria said to Natasha. “Maybe I’ll just jump on my own.”

“No, have Barnes do it,” said Natasha. “He’s really good.”

“Hey,” said Steve, propping his hands on his hips.

Natasha rolled her eyes, smiling. “I’m sure you’re good, too. Actually, can Maria and I go at the same time?”

“Yeah, okay,” said Steve.

“If you’re sure you want to,” Bucky said to Maria.

“I’m sure,” she replied. “Just, not into the rafters, all right?”

“No problem,” said Bucky. “It’s easier not to.”

Maria smiled at him, until Natasha nudged her. Without a word, they ran together at Bucky and Steve, and were hoisted in tandem out over the pool. Maria jack-knifed with clean, precise movements, while Natasha flowed through a series of ethereal twists on the way down.

“Wow,” said Sam as they disappeared into the water. “There’s an image that’ll linger.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, I have to get to that rafter. That’s a thing that needs to happen. You guys can make that happen, right?”

“We can if you can,” said Steve, smirking.

“That’s what I like to hear. All right, let’s do this.” Sam went all the way to the back of the ledge, while Steve and Bucky linked arms again. He charged at them, and they launched him skyward. Sam knew a thing or two about flying, and he made good use of that knowledge, soaring up to slap the top of the rafter and laughing the rest of the way down.

“You still okay?” Bucky asked, now that they were alone again.

“Yeah. This is fun,” he said, smiling a little shyly. “Your ideas usually are.” 

“And you thought it would be ridiculous.”

Steve laughed. “It is ridiculous. That’s why it’s fun.”

Bucky grinned. “How do you want to do this part?” he said, inclining his chin toward the drop.

“Together,” Steve said without hesitation. He brushed his hand against Bucky’s and Bucky took hold of it.

Steve looked at Bucky, and Bucky smiled his curvy smile. Steve gave a breathless little laugh, then squared his shoulders. Bucky nodded, and they jumped off the platform, still holding hands.


	17. Chapter 17

The conservatory was enchanting under moonlight, with the city flickering peacefully far below.

It was somewhat less peaceful inside, as nine people grumbled over how to fit on three couches and three recliners.

Tony and Pepper sat together on one couch, and Steve and Bucky took up another. But Clint had taken one of the recliners. This left Sam and Maria carefully avoiding sitting together, Bruce nervously eyeing Natasha, and Natasha silently laughing at all of them from beside the popcorn machine.

Finally, she sauntered over to the couch and sat down before curving a smile at Maria.

“Excuse me,” Maria said as she did an end run around Bruce and sat down next to Natasha.

“Uh, sure,” Bruce said, then shrugged at Sam and sat in one of the recliners. Sam sat in the other one, just as a huge video screen opened in front of them.

When a sepia-toned lion began to roar, Bucky turned to Steve and said, “Didn’t we used to have that?”

“Yeah, the MGM lion. We used to watch movies at the Orpheum together,” said Steve.

“With that guy. He had a hat, and a mustache,” said Bucky, making a little mustache with his finger.

“Charlie Chaplin! Right. And --”

Tony interrupted Steve’s whispers with a loud, “SHHH. Movie time.”

Steve turned back to the screen, where a Kansas farm girl was teetering on a fence. “Hey, I know this,” he said.

“Everybody knows this one,” said Clint.

“Um, actually . . ." said Maria.

Sam looked over at her. “You’ve never seen Wizard of Oz?”

“Not really,” Maria answered.

“How come they don’t get shushed?” asked Steve.

Tony sighed. “Because the day it becomes my job to teach all of you manners, the world will already be ending.”

Then Dorothy began to sing, and all the chatter stopped.

It stayed quiet for a long time. Steve spent much of that time watching Bucky, who almost seemed to glow under the soft light of the moon.

When Dorothy met the fortune teller, Steve whispered, “You want some popcorn?” 

Bucky nodded, barely looking away from the screen.

Tony followed Steve to the popcorn machine. “So, you told Barnes, right?” he said when they got there.

Steve blinked. “Told him what?”

“Do the words ‘truly, madly, deeply’ ring a bell?”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m not going to tell him that.”

“What? Why?”

“I told you, he doesn’t feel the same way,” Steve whispered fiercely.

“What the hell do you think ‘always makes everything less awful’ means, Steve?” Tony whispered back. “And he held your hand at the pool. It was freaking adorable.”

“That’s not -- It doesn’t --” Steve shook his head. “Besides, that’s way too much pressure.”

Tony just glared at him with his mouth open.

“He lives with me. What if he doesn’t . . . Where is he supposed to go then?”

“Seriously? All right, fine. Let’s do this,” Tony said, and marched back to the seats.

Steve hurried after him.

“Hey Sam,” said Tony, talking very fast. “You know, whenever you want to sell your condo, I can get you moved in here in a day, tops. You too, Barnes. You get tired of shacking up with Amber Waves of Grain over there, say the word and I’ll set you up with your own apartment in the Tower. Okay, good talk, forgot my popcorn. Be right back, Pepper." Tony darted back to the popcorn machine.

Confused glances were exchanged around the room, with the exception of Natasha, who smiled and whispered in Maria’s ear.

Sam turned to Bucky. “Amber Waves of Grain is Steve, right? What just happened?”

Bucky looked a little stunned himself.

Pepper smiled. “That was Tony’s way of inviting you to live here. We’d all be delighted to have you, but you should probably take some time to think it over, first.”

“I will do that. Thank you,” said Sam.

Steve, who hadn’t forgotten his popcorn, sat back down next to Bucky.

Bucky watched Steve for a moment. “Can I sit closer to you?” he asked quietly.

“Sure." Steve shifted the popcorn to his right hand.

“Move your arm,” said Bucky, so Steve propped it on the back of the couch, and Bucky curled against his side.

Tony walked in front of them with his popcorn, giving go-ahead gestures to Steve. 

Steve shook his head, and Tony shot him a dirty look before sitting next to Pepper.

Things got quiet again, as Dorothy met munchkins, and witches, and a Scarecrow. 

But then she met the Tin Man. As he squeaked about the oil can, Bucky laughed out loud and said “It’s Tony!”

Amid the general chuckling, Tony asked, “Well, if having shrapnel in my heart made me the Tin Man, what’s that make you?” 

Bucky grinned. “The Scarecrow is the best one. ‘I could think of things I’d never thunk before, and then I’d sit and think some more’.”

Clint suddenly burst out laughing. “Thor literally comes over the rainbow to get here.”

Everyone laughed at that.

“Hey Steve, know which one you are?” said Tony.

Steve glared at him. “Are you saying I’m the Cowardly Lion?”

“I was going to go with Glinda the Good Witch, but yours is so much better,” Tony said, nearly falling over laughing.

Steve clenched his jaw.

“Anyone want more popcorn?” asked Bruce, on his way to the machine, but everyone shook their heads.

Steve looked down at Bucky, who was still curled up against his side, practically in his arms. He took a deep breath and announced, “Bucky, I love you.”

For a moment, there was near silence, and even the sound of Bruce scooping popcorn seemed loud.

Bucky kept his eyes on the screen and said casually, “Yeah, I love you, too." Then he stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth.

Steve blinked, clearly flustered at how anti-climactic that was.

Then Bucky swallowed and said, “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” Steve breathed.

Bucky looked him in the eyes. “I always wanted to, it just wasn’t allowed. But I’ve broken so many other rules since then, I’m not afraid of breaking the stupidest one. Not if you want to.”

“I . . . Yeah. Yes. I want to. I really . . .” Steve lost his words, looking at Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky leaned in close, putting one hand on the arm of the couch for balance, and Steve tilted his chin up, and suddenly their lips met, ever so softly. Steve pressed forward just a bit, carefully keeping his hands where they were, making the kiss a little more insistent, but still sweet and chaste and delicate.

Bruce walked by with his popcorn, then stopped short when he saw them. “Nobody ever tells me anything,” he said, going back to his chair.

Steve came up for air and looked wonderingly at Bucky, but then Bucky said, “More,” and Steve nodded and started to raise his hand to Bucky’s face. He hesitated and said, “Can I?”

Bucky nodded and dove for Steve’s mouth. Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky sort of toppled forward into Steve’s lap, catching himself with his hands on Steve’s chest, and this kiss was so much deeper, the two of them clinging to each other as if they’d waited all their long lives for this. 

“Uh, fellas, if things get any hotter over there, I’m bringing out cameras,” Tony scolded.

Steve and Bucky hesitated, staring at each other, inches apart. Steve looked down at Bucky’s lips, lush and red and curved in a smile, while Bucky traced his eyes over the line of Steve’s neck.

“Steve?” said Sam.

“I’m thinking,” Steve answered, breathing hard and not looking away from Bucky.

Tony snickered. Then a second later, he said, “Oh, come on, you don’t have to do everything Steve does.”

Maria said, “No, I think he does,” and Steve looked up to see Sam leaning in to kiss her.

“You want to go do this in our apartment?” Steve asked.

Bucky scrambled to his feet and took Steve’s hand. As they walked to the doors, Natasha was throwing popcorn at Sam and Maria, giggling.

 

The little black car met them in the hallway, and they climbed on, tapping the dash twice when they were seated.

Steve looked at Bucky. “Um, for the next few hours, or until you say otherwise, can I keep kissing you, without asking every time?”

“Definitely,” Bucky said, still smiling his curvy smile.

“Oh, good,” Steve said, trying desperately to focus. “And, any of these rules, if you say yes, that goes for me, too, okay?”

“Okay." Bucky leaned over and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

“When we get back home, can I put my hands under your shirt?” Steve asked, blushing all over.

“Yes,” Bucky said, looking him up and down appreciatively.

Steve kissed Bucky’s jaw and said into his ear, “Can I put my hands under your pants?”

“Well, I was planning on taking them off,” Bucky smirked, “but you can put your hands everywhere.”

“Oh God, that is a good answer,” Steve sighed. “Can I put my mouth everywhere?”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Jesus. Yes, but if you keep asking questions like that, I’m not waiting until we get home.”

“Okay,” Steve said, and he tugged at the hem of Bucky’s shirt.

Bucky stripped the shirt off and dropped it on the seat, where it promptly slid off onto the floor and was lost down the hall. He pivoted and put his knee on the other side of Steve, straddling him, pinning him in place.

Steve ran his hands up Bucky’s thighs, making him arch his back with the pleasure of it. “If we don’t make it to the apartment in time,” Steve said breathlessly, “I don’t think the seat is big enough. I’ll try propping you against a wall and we’ll see how it goes from there.”

Bucky laughed, dark and dirty. “My Star-Spangled Man with a plan,” he said, pulling off Steve’s shirt.

“You’re damn right,” Steve answered before kissing his way down Bucky’s neck.

 

Soft morning light illuminated the cozy bedroom full of wooden furniture, hand made quilts, and analog clocks. Two super-soldiers were tangled together on top of the covers, fast asleep. They were each wearing starry pajama pants, one in red, one in blue.

Steve’s eyes drifted open, and he began gently extricating himself from Bucky.

Bucky said something into his pillow that sounded like, “Say moose.”

“What?” Steve asked sleepily.

Bucky pushed himself up the smallest amount needed to clear the pillow and enunciated, “Same rules. As last night.”

A languid smile spread across Steve’s face as he nestled back to where he had started. “M’kay,” he said, running his fingers lightly over Bucky’s ribcage, making random shapes and spirals.

Bucky yawned and shifted tighter against him. “Are you drawing on me?”

“Not really. You’d make a beautiful canvas, though.”

Bucky turned to see his face. “Is that something you’d want to do?”

“Um, yeah, actually,” said Steve, a little surprised at himself. Bucky curved an impish grin at him, and Steve brushed it with his thumb, and then with his lips. “Did you know you have the world’s most perfect mouth?” he asked when he finished.

Bucky said, “I mean, I always suspected, but . . .”

Steve laughed, soft and deep. “Now we know what to put on your business cards.”

Bucky bit his lip in thought, which made Steve sigh contentedly, then said, “So I had an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it seems like showering would be a good skill to have, so I was hoping you could help me out with that. Make some better memories?”

“I -- Yes. Can we, now?” Steve said.

Bucky blinked at him. “But you . . ." Realization dawned on his face. “You’re not actually shy about that.”

Steve blushed. “You’re not supposed to stare at people, especially when they’re not dressed, so, my only other option was not to look at all.”

Bucky shook his head and chuckled. “I expect you to do a lot more than stare, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Definitely not a problem,” Steve said, rolling off the bed.


	18. Chapter 18

“You know Barnes, I spend way too much time in your brain,” said Tony, watching his tablet as he wheeled his way across the garage. 

“I did know that,” said Bucky. He was holding a stuffed rabbit in his silver hand, and wearing jeans and a black t-shirt with a blue Doritos logo across the front. He waved his free hand at the cluttered countertop in front of him. “Does it matter what I’m touching or --”

“Not really. Jarvis is recording everything, and we can cross reference from that. Just try to get as many textures as you can.”

“Okay." 

The first thing Bucky reached for was a framed drawing on the wall, of a striped cat serving cake to two other cats.

Next he pulled a set of dog tags from under his shirt and ran his thumb over the chain.

“Are those yours, or his?” Tony asked.

“His,” Bucky answered. He ran his hand over a fuzzy blanket.

“If the two of you get married, you’re going to have to let me call you something else,” said Tony.

Irritated, Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“If you take his name, then you won’t be Barnes anymore, and if he takes yours, then you’d both be Barnes. Hyphenation would be a complete nightmare,” said Tony.

“That’s really not funny, Tony,” Bucky said, glaring.

“No, it really -- Oh! Shit! That’s a thing now,” Tony said. “Marriage equality. Welcome to the 21st century. You can marry any gender person you want, unless you live in one of the backwards states.”

“Jarvis?” said Bucky.

“Mister Stark is correct. Same-sex marriage is legal in most of the United States, including New York.”

“Huh,” said Bucky.

“Try the lava rocks,” said Tony.

Bucky looked around for them, then rolled them in his hand before bearing down and crushing them.

“Nice. Is that more pain than you’d want to let through, or are we good?”

“No, that’s fine." Bucky brushed his fingers off on his pants.

“Cool. Do the pudding next.”

There was an open pudding cup on the counter, so Bucky dipped two of his fingers in it.

His shoulder twitched and he backed away. “That is not okay,” he muttered.

Tony looked up from his display. “Breathe, Barnes,” he said, sliding off his stool and grabbing a nearby roll of paper towels. Bucky’s other hand was still full of stuffed rabbit, so Tony waved a paper towel at him and said, “Want me to?”

Bucky clenched his jaw, but nodded.

“You with me there, Scarecrow?” Tony said as he cleaned the vanilla pudding from Bucky’s hand.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “It just -- I expected it to be cold. It threw me off. But I'm fine.”  


Tony gave him a look.

“I will be fine. Shut up.”

Tony smiled. “I was thinking about trying Wizard of Oz again, for Movie Night. The only other person who hadn’t seen it was Hill, and she and Sam took off before they reached the Emerald City.”

“We’ve been listening to the audiobook,” Bucky said. “Steve does calisthenics. It’s awful. And I don’t get to watch unless I do them, too.” He smiled crookedly at Tony.

Tony shook with repressed laughter as he went back to his tablet.

“The book’s pretty funny, though,” Bucky went on. “The Scarecrow has all the best ideas, and the Tin Man is always crying over everything. But the Lion has no regard for his own safety, which is dumb.”

“You ready to get back to this?” Tony asked.

Bucky wandered around the garage, touching things at random. A towel. A wrench. A ‘76 Stingray.

The doors slid silently open, and Steve came in, wearing a blue t-shirt with a stylized drawing of an ice cream sundae on the front, and carrying a big duffel bag.

Bucky dropped the ball of paper he’d been crumpling and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, instead, drawing him in for a deep kiss.

“What -- No!” said Tony, looking up. “Don’t do that while I’m in your head. Wait a minute.”

“Nope, waiting sucks,” said Bucky, kissing Steve again.

“Put. The bunny. Down,” said Tony.

Steve chuckled and tugged the rabbit out of Bucky’s hand. He set it on top of the car and laced his fingers with Bucky’s.

“What’s in the bag?” Bucky asked.

“Helmets,” Steve said, smiling. “So we can go for a ride without being recognized.”

“Also, to keep you from shattering your skulls,” said Tony.

“As long as we’re out,” Bucky asked, “can we stop at a jewelry store?”

“Uh, sure,” said Steve, baffled.

Bucky bit his lip and smiled. “Thing is, I was planning on asking you to marry me, but I figured I should buy you a ring first.”

Steve’s eyes went very wide. “Oh. Well, I’m planning on saying yes, so we may as well get a ring for you, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky’s.

Bucky turned in Steve’s arms. “Hey Tony, will you be my best man?”

Tony blinked.

“I’ll let you call me Bucky,” he said. Steve nuzzled a kiss under Bucky’s ear.

“I would be honored,” said Tony, very seriously. “Can I call you Buckster?”

“No.”

“Buckarino?”

“No.”

“Buckalicious?”

“No.”

 

The wedding was held in the conservatory, under the light of the moon.

The grooms were beautiful, one in a dark suit, one in light.

Tony brought cake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi! I'm on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sproings). If you got this far, you're awesome.


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